


Silence

by Solitary_Shadow



Series: The Silenceverse - 'Mein Gott, hilf mir diese tödliche Liebe zu überleben' [1]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Slash, reflective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-29
Updated: 2012-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 10:30:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 83,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solitary_Shadow/pseuds/Solitary_Shadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Till is no less of a mystery after nearly two decades of Rammstein. Richard observes him over the years; and it turns out, Till's virtue was always within his silence after all. Spans the period from 1994-2011. Gradual Till/Richard. Lots of soul-searching and angst and the occasional fluff ahead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 'Wo wilst du hin?'

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer: I do not know any of the members of Rammstein; this is strictly a work of fiction that does not intend to profit nor present its portrayal of the band's lives as fact.**
> 
> This is my first Rammstein fic and hopefully not my last. It's being cross-posted to Deviantart and Aff.net as well, but I'm also putting it here because this place has a Rammstein section that could do with expanding!
> 
> The original inspiration for this fic came from Deviantart, from a fanart by NightCatty that featured a young Till and Richard - and Till was basket-weaving. It was really cute and I wanted to write something based off it, and this chapter is a reflection of that. As for whether it stopped there... erm... well, as of now the entire fic is over 50,000 words, so it's gotten a wee bit out of hand. ^^;;;
> 
> So I thought hell, why not. It'll span the entire period the band's been together. Let's make it an epic Till/Richard story. The result is this. Currently I have it planned for six chapters, but I have a feeling that it's going to go over that. We'll see how it goes. Please enjoy!

**Silence (Chapter 1)** \- _'Wo willst du hin?'_

 

\-------

 

"I need you, Till! Come to Berlin with me."

This is the seventh day that Richard has tried to persuade Dietrich Lindemann to be the singer for their new band. Except that he shouldn't be called that because he hates the name 'Dietrich' and prefers to be called 'Till' instead, and the fact that he's not at all an easy person to persuade in those matters. Richard supposes that it was a bit surprising for Till as well; he did kind of spring the news onto the older man without much warning, and he never really gave the man much time to think about it. It's fair enough that he's being hesitant.

But Richard needs to be fair on himself as well. And he justifies this with the fact that his discovery of Till's vocal talent is a very recent development, and that he _needs_ to persuade the older man because he truly does _not_ want that voice being wasted on nothing. He has other ideas for the band as well, but reeling in Till is his first concern.

And for the seventh day in a row, the man refuses to acknowledge his request. He simply looks at Richard, shakes his head, and goes to his workshop. Till has worked a lot of odd jobs in his life and this is possibly the oddest he's had so far - basket weaving. He is incredibly good at what he does, but that doesn't change the fact that it's still bizarre. Richard sighs; he follows the man inside, and leans against the workshop doorway with a pleading look.

"Won't you consider it?" He says. Till simply gives him a wild-eyed look and weaves a long strand of willow through the base of the basket that he's working on, wrapping it deftly around the frame. He's by no means a small man - Till has a truly magnificent swimmer's physique, strong and tightly muscled with a tall, imposing stature - but it's quite engaging to see his large hands working ever so quickly on something like a small basket. How he does that is anyone's guess; delicate is not a word for him and his body, but he manages to be exactly that in so many other ways. But then, as stated before, Till is a man of many talents and it's probably about time that Richard stopped marveling so much at them; however, his vocal talent is not something he's about to let up on.

It all started as one single moment that could have been easily missed. Had it been anyone but Richard who had walked past Till's workshop a week ago, none of this would be happening right now. He's planning a band at the moment; both him and Till are playing in a band called 'First Arsch' - Till plays drums and he plays guitar - but this will be completely different. He's not sure what's going to happen yet, but it'll be a sight to behold; with them both, Paul (the other guitarist of First Arsch and a truly hilarious bastard to have around), and some others, it really could turn out great. But the short version of all this is that he originally planned to have Till as the drummer, which was one decision that got very quickly overturned when he walked past the workshop and the door happened to be open and he heard the older man singing to himself inside. He'd peeked in without Till noticing and had stood there, listening with utter fascination and surprise.  
 _  
What a beautiful, powerful voice_ , he had thought, leaning on the very doorway that he was leaning on now. He'd felt dazed with sheer admiration; he'd known that the man was a talented writer, and sometimes he would murmur some of his lyrics whilst testing their rhythm and metre, but he had never really sung like this before. This was not a side of him that Richard was familiar with but he was eager to learn more about it for sure, and with that sprung up the idea - why not have Till as a vocalist? Unfortunately, that's about as far as he got before the older man spotted him and stopped singing, utterly mortified at being discovered. Since then he has barely spoken to Richard at all, probably too embarrassed to be met with unexpected praise.

"We've got time," he coaxes. "you know I'll be coming back every day, Till, until you agree or give a better alternative - and to be honest I don't see how there _can_ be a better alternative when you're here. You _are_ talented, you know. Drums, bass and now vocals? I'd kill to have the talent you have."

Till doesn't reply. He tightens the willow handle around the basket, gives it a little polish, and nods at it in approval before putting it back down on the counter. One basket down, six more to go before lunch. Richard figures that he'll try again after lunchtime, and slips out of the workshop. He could use a smoke.

What a strange person Till is, he muses as he lights up and inhales, exhaling pearly smoke where it dissolves in the breeze. He's been friends with the man for years and he still hasn't got him figured out. Till is outwardly gruff and somewhat distant at times, but when they're performing he can be quite energetic - but neither of those personalities are anywhere close to what he's actually like. Richard twirls his cigarette in his fingers and tries to gather what he's seen of the real Till - quiet, contemplative, soulful. All this coming from a man who sings like an angel to boot. The younger man can't see what's so wrong about wanting Till as a singer, it can only do them good if his judgment proves correct. He's a talented lyricist, his voice (bass-baritone, Richard roughly assumes) powerful enough to carry across the whole audience, and he cuts an impressive figure. The singer of a band usually becomes the default image of the entire band itself, and he admits to himself with a smile that having a band in Till's image is quite appealing to him.

They're not really boys after all. Oliver Riedel, the planned new bassist for the band, is twenty-three but one wouldn't be able to guess that from his image and personality. He's eight years younger than Till (their oldest member, if things go well) but doesn't look nor act like he's the youngest out of all of them. Richard figures that none of them are too into making themselves look particularly feminine or 'soft'. No prospective members that Richard's thinking of have a particularly effeminate side, so they've got to work with their masculinity. Till's a fine example of that all right. Strongly muscled from his swimmer days and constant exercise, taller than most and good-looking in a rugged sort of way - he's got the atmosphere of the truly Teutonic around him. Drums are bass are well-suited to him, but ideally he should be somewhere more visible, and Richard will make sure that it happens.

It is starting to rain. When he stubs out the cigarette and goes back inside, the workshop door is closed and it's 9:40am. Still a few hours left before lunch. He keeps that in mind before going back to his work.

\-----

Lunchtime has come and gone and the door's remained staunchly closed throughout. Till's work ethic is truly admirable; Richard supposes that he's gotten so engrossed in what he's doing that he's lost all sense of time. He's a little disappointed but not too surprised, because this isn't the first time he's seen this happen. His friend is hardworking like that, and it's actually quite admirable.

Richard smiles towards the workshop door, leaning back on the couch with a drink in hand. He's become quite fond of Till in the time that they've spent working together, and he can't very well deny it. And what's so wrong with him being fond of the man, anyway, when they're genuine friends and when they just kind of click together - _snap_ \- just like that? They've both had quite a ride in their lives already. Both of them have daughters that they're raising and Till's been married once, although they're now separated. Neither of them have had a very conventional life so far, but they've both emerged as adults in their own respective ways and that's all it should matter. Both of them have had a blast of a time playing in First Arsch, and Richard's opinion is that things could continue in that direction quite easily. If only Till would eventually come around to his point of view!

The first three days that the younger man spent trying to persuade Till was met with stony silence and a slightly mortified glance or two. But the fourth day had actually been somewhat successful in terms of getting Till's opinion on the project, and that's still what he's referring back to. That was when Richard came across the most significant obstacle in having the older man as a vocalist; it turned out, after much coaxing and pleading, that Till disliked being too visible on stage. "I don't really like performing onstage," he'd admitted in a near inaudible voice, nervously lacing and unlacing his fingers together. From that gesture alone the younger man knew that it was serious. "drums are fine precisely because I'm out of sight. Gives me something to pay attention to."

This is quite obviously a problem. Richard hasn't figured out if it's a fear of the stage or something else, but either way, there's no way he can force someone with that kind of aversion to take what is essentially the leading position in a band. Till did end up agreeing that it's something he can get over with time, and he did clarify that it's not such a big problem that it would impair his ability to sing completely, but he hasn't expanded on it since.

"Who will replace me as drummer?" Till had also asked, and upon being informed of Christopher Schneider, seemed to frown a little. But they're both acquainted, and Schneider is a charming man (if outwardly a little aloof), so he eventually seemed to approve of that choice after a few minutes of deep thought. Anyone who's seen the man on drums would probably approve as well, because unlike Till who pursues drumming to try to stay out of sight (and thus keeps a laid-back style), Schneider makes it almost a personal vow to be as wild and passionate as possible onstage. He's also a man who's both handsome and extremely versatile in his appearance at the same time, which Richard admires greatly and thinks will be a great asset to his stage persona. Schneider would be eye-catching and at the same time unrecognizable with some cleverly applied makeup or a haircut or even some facial hair, allowing for lots of possibilities regarding his appearance. One could do that with Till but no matter how much he changes his hair or clothes or whatever, he would always look like _Till_ beneath it all and that's really just the end of it. That's a desirable factor, though, if he's to be the singer of the band - he'll always be recognizable, regardless of what's done to him.

Richard knows that his thoughts are wandering, and he glances at the clock and briefly contemplates going to discuss things with the older man again. But he decides against it almost immediately - it's not as if it can't wait. Eventually Till's going to have to stop for food and that'll be his chance. Satisfied, he lapses back into his own thoughts; while Till isn't the most handsome person he's ever seen, Richard somehow prefers his looks. Schneider, for example, has well-defined features that compliment each other, but individually they don't stand out quite as much. Till's features certainly stand out in his radiant, surprisingly wide and clear blue-green eyes and long eyelashes, which become particularly prominent whenever he smiles (quite a rare event) or has a surprised expression on his face. They lend him a variety of expressions ranging from soulful to almost innocent and boyish. He also has the most perfectly shaped mouth, Richard thinks to himself while gazing absent-mindedly ahead and tapping on his long-since empty glass. One wouldn't think it from someone so outwardly stoic as Till, but his lips are most delicately formed, pink and soft and almost feminine in their beauty. If one is looking at Till from a sideways view, preferably when the older man is working with a half-lidded gaze, then from that angle the man's face is perfection in itself. The guitarist follows this thought up with a chuckle directed at himself for having such strange thoughts in his head.

Eyes and lips. The older man's face is a beautifully mismatched one precisely because of those two features. The younger man smiles at the thought and leans further back on the couch, aware that his heart is suddenly beating a little faster than before. That tends to happen whenever he thinks about Till, his expressions, and (recently) his voice. Lately Richard hasn't been quite sure of the extent of his feelings for the man. On one hand, he finds Till a good friend and acquaintance and somebody to share drinks with in a bar and laugh about the most insignificant of things. On the other hand he finds him admirable in a completely different sort of way; Richard would be a liar if he didn't acknowledge that he's sometimes thought about the older man in a more intimate manner, imagined his strong muscular arms around his waist and smiling at him in the way that lovers do. But of course that's just a thought. Richard himself doesn't think that he's in love with Till in that way, but if things ever turned out like that (the possibility is faint but exists, they've got decades of life ahead of them) then he probably won't mind that at all. But he does, just once, want to sleep next to Till - he simply wants to feel the other's warmth and see him asleep and vulnerable and charmingly oblivious to everything. It's probably going to be a very awkward affair if it ever happened, seeing as they aren't used to sleeping in one half of a bed with another man occupying the other half, but it'd nevertheless be something that would make Richard feel quite contented.

Everything else is speculation and possibly just a fleeting fantasy, but this much is true: he wants Till to be open with him.

That's not too much to ask. Or is it? Richard suddenly isn't so sure. _Open_ certainly isn't a word for what the older man's been like for the past week. Till's always making baskets or trying to catch a rest, and barely talks to anyone, let alone Richard. It's getting to be at a near-obsessed level. He finds himself a little alarmed at this, and stands up to put the empty glass away, wondering how much of his friend he truly knows; could it be that him trying to persuade Till without much success is because he doesn't really know about the man? Perhaps if Richard knew him, really _knew_ everything about his personality and opinions and stances in life, perhaps the thought of getting Till in the band wouldn't have occurred to him in the first place. After all, he hasn't been successful yet. He might have been beating a dead horse all this time and never really realized it.

This thought is a _very_ disturbing one for the guitarist, and just to get his mind off it he knocks on the workshop door and goes inside when there is no reply. The older man is still sitting in front of the counter, a finished basket in hand; he gives it a look over, pats it lightly and puts it aside to work on another. He sees not seven completed baskets but _fifteen_ and is inwardly amazed - all hopes of lunch are gone now, it being too late for that, and chances are Till didn't even notice because he was so engrossed in what he was doing. He probably got so into it that he dug up unfinished baskets from the previous days' work as well, along with making a couple of the next day's orders in advance. It is utterly crazy and so completely _Till_ that Richard briefly finds himself at a loss as to what to say.

Mere containers made of willow and reed have stolen his friend away. Ridiculously melodramatic to put it like that, perhaps, but that's a good summary of his opinion on the whole thing.

"How many have you got left?" he finally asks, and Till gestures towards the left-hand corner of the counter. Two left, and they're both nearly finished. From this he deduces that Till isn't particularly up to talking about the project again - but this time, it doesn't come off as annoying or something to feel desperate about. He's quite startled himself at that revelation for a second or two, but then it suddenly makes sense to him. He's pestered Till for days on end without much success, of course they must be feeling drained; and _really_ , now that he's starting to think about it, he doesn't have a right to be doing this to the man. Till has his family to look after, he has work to do, and Richard asking him to give it all up is preposterous. The guitarist bites his lip as he leans against the wall and looks at the older man working - it's never occurred to him, somehow, that Till is doing all of this for a very good reason. Seven straight days of thinking about nothing but Till and years of knowing the man and he's never thought about it, and with that realization comes embarrassment and shame.

 _Well_ , he tries to think of the other side of things, _he's surely not so desperate for money. He's told me so himself, that he has savings and things to fall back upon should be decide to take on riskier objectives, and Till's one of the sharpest men out there when it comes to managing himself and his family._

All true, of course. But Till being so competent makes him feel ashamed that he can't be more like him. His heart tells him that no one else but Till would do, and the project is still going ahead, but it's about time that he actually became honest with the older man. Now's as good as any time to do it.

"Look, Till," he speaks up, staring outside at the rain. The reflection on the glass shows that the older man is still hard at work. "I know I've been pestering you something awful the past few days. God knows why you haven't hit me yet, even though I must have bothered you half to death. I probably deserve it. No, that's not right - I _do_ deserve it. I can't deny that, Till. I'd be pissed if I were you, too," he pauses for breath for a couple of seconds. "but I'm really being serious here. This isn't just about the band, you know - I've got no desire to cheapen your talent by displaying it everywhere, I really don't want that to happen. Your voice is beyond that. It might sound like a load of rubbish but I really do mean it when I say that your voice is the best thing that can ever be added to this band. No, screw that, it's the best thing I've come across in nearly ten years, honest. God knows how I never noticed after years of being friends with you and performing together in the same band, and after you made lyrical contributions as well. If I'd noticed earlier, perhaps we could have worked things out without me bothering you like this so much. We'd have had more time. I'm sorry for that, Till. I do mean it. I don't blame you for being hesitant-"

While he's spilling his heart out like this, he realizes that Till is no longer working on the basket; he's put it down altogether, listening intently to Richard's confession and silently waiting for more. Heart skipping a beat at this realization, the younger man nevertheless finds himself quite excited and pleased that he's gotten the other to pay such close attention to him. "-because, well, this is a risky venture after all. It's perfectly understandable. Who am I to undermine your feelings, really? I can't and I shan't pretend that I can. But despite all that I want you in the band - I want you as the vocals and no one else because your voice is just so beautiful and I know that I won't find anyone like that even if I searched high and low for years. Your voice is - how do I put this - well, your voice is the _right one_. It might not be the most powerful nor the most beautiful voice gifted to mankind, but it's the exact one that we need and no other factor matters to me. And..." he glances at Till's reflection on the glass, and sees that the older man has actually turned his body in his direction. "... me needing you? It's not strictly just in the voice sense or even your poems. I have no desire to _use_ you just for the talents you've got to offer when you're so much more than that. I want you with me because you're how you are. I want to be where you are because you're Till Lindemann and you're a hard worker who takes on eccentric jobs and always has something odd and insightful to say about every situation. Because you're clammed up half the time and don't talk to anyone, but then sometimes you sing as if possessed by some sort of angel. Because you bang on those drums as if they were ex-girlfriends and not drums and end up spending a fortune on drumsticks, but at the same time you write poetry and weave baskets almost as if you've done nothing but weave baskets all your life."

"I want to be with you for this project because I'm confident that this can make you happy and I need you to be as fulfilled as possible," Richard stops there and smiles sadly. "I sound like a goddamned mother, don't I? You must think that I'm so selfish..."

He doesn't turn around, but he knows that the older man is watching. They remain silent for a few minutes, listening to the rain beating on the pavement outside, before the Richard sighs and turns to go.

"I won't bother you again today, Till..."

He gets as far as five steps before he hears the sound of a chair being scraped against the floor; glancing back, he sees that Till is standing right behind him, his expression surprisingly soft. Richard stops in his tracks, wondering what's going on. "Did you want to say something?"

Till keeps looking at him, and as gentle as his gaze is, Richard finds the silence somewhat unnerving. He's about to say something when Till finally makes a move and reaches out, taking one of the other's hands in both of his.

"I will, Richard," he says quietly. "I will come with you."

Richard is over the moon at those words. He immediately grabs Till in a tight embrace, pressing a passionate kiss of gratitude onto his cheek and repeatedly gushing about how grateful he is, that he won't end up regretting it under any circumstances ever because Richard won't allow it, and would he like to go out for dinner together because he'll pay for everything. The older man blinks at him, rather taken aback by the gesture, but he nods and smiles back within a few seconds. From that the younger man thinks that maybe things will go a lot more smoothly from now on.

\-----

But he doesn't hear from Till after their dinner and a few initial agreements. When he drops in around five in the afternoon two days after, he finds Till in his workshop again, working on another basket.

"You don't have to make baskets anymore, Till," he says, rubbing his forehead and his mild irritation magnified by an hangover. The older man simply gives him another look and continues his work, delicately twisting a reed into place. "Jesus. Don't tell me that you're contracted to carry for another month or something? I thought you were quitting today."

"I did," Till replies quietly. "I've got enough to live on for now."

"Then why the hell are you-" Richard doesn't finish this sentence, simply throwing his hands up in defeat. The room is tidier than usual, and only then does the younger man notice that there aren't piles of unfinished baskets lying around as it usually does. There are still raw materials strewed over the counter, but the basket that Till has in his hands is the only one he can see. It's also rather large and a little deeper compared to the baskets that he's made in the past months. He thinks that this is certainly very odd, but shrugs it off - he can make at least five more with what he's got, he assumes, and this just makes him more annoyed.

"It'll just be this one," the older man says in a somewhat tired tone of voice. "I promise."

"It'd better be!" Richard says (it comes out much harsher than intended) before stalking out of the room; Till's probably stayed in there for the entire day again, he thinks to himself, while they could have discussed their future prospects instead. Something inside him protests that he's hugely overreacting, because it really isn't any of his goddamned business what Till chooses to do with his time and it's not as if the older man hasn't kept his promise. He didn't take his agreement back, and he's cleaned up his workshop and quit proper. What's Richard so anxious about?

"Richard."

Perhaps _anxious_ isn't the right word, _per se_. He's just eager to get things started. He's just far too eager to work with Till. Whatever happened to that epiphany that he'd had forty-eight hours ago?

"Richard, wait."

He's already regretting his outburst and is about to turn back and apologize when Till rushes out of the room, obviously rather distraught. He grasps Richard by the shoulder and spins him around, his eyes wide with panic; this is weird because the older man's not known for being particularly emotional. He's actually gotten Till to stop focusing on his baskets twice in a row somehow, this has got to be some kind of record-

"You misunderstood," Till says, so softly that Richard barely catches it.

"What didn't I understand?" he says, inwardly hitting himself when his words come out as childish sulking against his will. When Till looks away (without loosening his grip, however) and doesn't answer, Richard realizes that he's probably hurt the other's feelings more than he ever thought he would and hangs his head in shame.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, hoping that it sounds just as sincere as he _thinks_ it sounds. "I... don't know what got into me, really. I'm just so eager about this project and gathering members together that I just... lost control, I guess. I didn't mean to-"

Till silences him by looking straight into his eyes. Richard falters and lets himself be lost in that gaze, feeling searched and oddly vulnerable. "It's all right," he finally says, grasping the younger man by the wrist and leading them both back into the workshop. "but you and I need a talk right now."

This doesn't bode well. Richard bites his lip at the words, nevertheless letting himself be led by the older man because his fingers circling his wrist feels too warm and pleasant to turn away from. Till shuts the door behind them and gestures for the guitarist to sit down first; he obeys and hoists himself atop the counter next to the half-formed basket, his hands gripping the edges of the counter.

"I wasn't exactly thinking of there," the older man remarks on this. Richard merely tightens his grip, and seeing that he's not about to move, Till sits down on the stool and takes the basket off the counter to rest upon his lap. Seeing this sends an unpleasant jolt through the other's stomach; it's almost like jealousy, except that would be ridiculous because he shouldn't be competing against a mere basket.

"Tell me what's wrong."

"Everything's fine, Till. I'm just... hung-over. And I told you about me being overexcited about this already. It's just nerves."

The other's fingers stroke against the sides of the basket absent-mindedly, and Richard feels that surprisingly unpleasant sensation again. "That's not the whole truth that you're telling me, Richard."

Damn himself for being so transparent, he thinks furiously, staring at the ground and trying to think of an answer. But lying to Till would be nigh impossible - it's not that the man would call him out on it, but rather that Richard doesn't have the courage to look at the older man and lie to his face. If he kept on avoiding his gaze, Till will just keep on asking until he gets the truth out. But then, what _is_ the truth, really?

It's times like this that the guitarist misses the other's usual silence. It would most certainly be appreciated right now if Till stopped asking questions. 

But he can't very well deny the man an answer either. So he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind: "I don't like seeing you weave baskets."

Till stares at him as if he were a lunatic and Richard feels like hitting himself repeatedly over the head for saying something so pointless.

"Not that I'm going to question your opinion," Till replies after a long period of silence (and he's _still_ fiddling with _that damn basket_ ), still looking rather bewildered. "but I'd like to know why."

"Because I swear you're obsessed with them," the guitarist mutters. "because you act like you were born to weave baskets all your life when I think you're suited to do better things. Because you... you spend so much time on them that you forget to eat or drink, when they're just damn _baskets_ \- that you aren't even going to use for yourself-"

Pause. Silence.

"-because you just don't open up to me when you work on those! And I can't even call you out on it most of the time because it's - well, _was_ \- your source of income and you have family to look after! And just when I've managed to persuade you and you've quit, here you are working on one again, and I..."

 _Well, this is awkward_. Understatement of the year. Richard is aware that he's rambling at this point, and even more painfully aware that he has no idea how to finish what he's started. He's seriously contemplating just mumbling a quick apology to Till and making himself scarce when he's saved by the sound of the older man chuckling. He quickly looks up, seeing Till grinning from ear to ear and his shoulders shaking with mirth.

"It's not funny," he protests, but all the fight's gone out of his voice and he knows that all too well. Till then takes everything Richard's ever known about him and throws it out of the window when he gets up, placing the basket on the counter, walks in front of him and grasps him in a warm, tight embrace. It's so sudden that the younger man doesn't have the frame of mind to even gasp or say anything, and when it occurs to him that yes, Till is holding him in a way that he'd only ever vaguely fantasized about before, his first instinct is to clench his eyes shut and hold his breath so he can engrave the moment in his mind. It doesn't sink in right away that the older man has never been so close to him before, that he's only wearing trousers and a wife-beater that barely conceals his muscular form, and Richard takes the opportunity to lean into the embrace, preserving the other's warmth and his faint dusty scent in his memory forever. It's surreal and at the same time absolutely breathtaking.

"I never thought that bothered you so much," Till tells him with a smile. "probably a good thing that I've quit, then."

This makes Richard suitably embarrassed with himself, and he wriggles free of the embrace against his own longing. "You must think that I'm such a manipulative, foul little bastard," he mutters. "you got pressured into doing things that don't even make sense at this current point in time because of what _I_ want. It's already too late for you to turn back, and instead of being grateful I got jealous of you working on that thing - you must think me so petty and ridiculous."

"Richard?"

"W-what?"

"Be quiet."

Till takes him by both hands and helps him down from the counter, leading them both out of the workshop and closing the door. He gestures for the younger man to sit down on the couch, and goes to the kitchen to fix some drinks for the two of them; while his hangover is still present, Richard doesn't have the heart nor will to turn down whatever he's making. It's gotten cold and the sun is just setting outside, but for some reason Richard feels a little too warm in his jacket. He shrugs it off along with his buttoned-up shirt and kicks his shoes off as well, now dressed only in a sleeveless undershirt and trousers. He's pleased with the result for all of two minutes before the chill starts getting to him again.

 _Bother_ , he thinks to himself, gazing irritatedly towards the clothes he's taken off and pondering whether if he'd be better off if he at least draped his jacket around his shoulders.

"Want me to turn the heat down?"

Richard spins around at the sound of Till's voice; the older man is staring at him in an amused manner with two drinks in hand. One is a mug of hot, steaming coffee and the other is a glass of Spezi. Till sets both down on the little coffee table and sits down beside Richard, gesturing for the younger man to take his choice of drink - he chooses the coffee, and Till takes up the glass and takes a long swig, also kicking off his mostly-unlaced boots as he does so. "The heat's not even on that high at the moment, but if you wanted me to I could make it a bit cooler."

"No," Richard replies a little too quickly, taking a hurried sip of the coffee (it is a very deliciously made drink, even though he nearly burns his tongue with that one sip); he's just noticed that Till and he are dressed similarly, and the chill doesn't seem at all bad when the older man is sitting right next to him. No point making it colder in the house, either. "I like it like this. Really."

Till leans against him, their bare arms now rubbing against each other; the contours of his muscles press against Richard's skin, making a curious heat flare up inside him. The older man doesn't comment at all, having lapsed back into silence and allowing Richard to regain his composure before they discuss anything further, simply focused on drinking his Spezi and putting his glass back on the table when he's done.

"You might not believe me, Richard, but I have faith in you," he speaks up. The younger man steals a glance at him at those words and sees that Till's expression is serious as anything. "I spent all of yesterday thinking about it. I know all the guys that you plan to have in the new band, and when things are finalized, I think we could work well. Never mind what I feel about the stage for now, it's something that can be fixed - if it couldn't be fixed, I wouldn't have taken up drumming in the first place nor have accepted a position in a band twice."

"Don't feel forced, Till, I mean it. You matter more to me as a person. If it can't be done, I'm not going to let you be uncomfortable."

"Thank you," the older man says, looking grateful but at the same time determined. "but you've done your part by having faith in me, and I'm going to make sure that you aren't disappointed. It'll be good to work with you more closely now. So if you feel at any point that you aren't happy, or you want me to do something, then just say it - I won't bite your head off, promise. I had no idea that me basket-weaving bothered you so much," Richard squirms and shakes his head at this, extremely embarrassed at his previous outburst. "no?"

"I'm just worried about stuff and taking it all out on you. You just deserve so much better. I'm an idiot."

"You aren't," the older man tells him, unfailingly polite yet firm enough to make Richard fall silent. But judging that it's not quite enough to reassure the guitarist, he takes the empty mug from his hands, sets it down, and grabs Richard around the waist before flopping right down on the couch with him. The younger man yelps in response, but when Till tickles him on the waist lightly he can't help himself chuckling at how immature and ridiculous and utterly _wonderful_ this is. It's the best thing the older man could have done, because it's lightened their moods considerably. "tell me about it, Richard."

"I'm scared," Richard admits to both Till and himself for the first time. It's easier when he's got the other's arms wrapped around him as if his skinny body was actually worth holding onto. "you haven't got a source of income right now because of me. Don't shake your head, it's true, you know it is - I persuaded you - and Till, I'll be _damned_ if I can't make this work. It's about you as well now, and you've probably got more to deal with than any of us, and I'd feel like such an asshole if it was all for naught. What if you quitting now turned out to be a crappy decision? I'm to blame and I know that. I know this is far from our first band, and it's really not as if the guys I've got in mind are completely inexperienced, but-"

Till shushes him by placing a finger on his lips. The intimacy of it makes him blush. "True," he says, simple and laconic in that way that Richard secretly loves him for. "it might turn out wrong in the end. The possibility is there. But even if that happens, while quitting this job might have been a crappy decision, it was _my_ own crappy decision at the end of the day and you shouldn't blame yourself for it."

Richard doesn't have anything to say to this.

"I didn't have to listen to you, no matter how heartfelt your pleas were, Richard. But I did because I wanted to. The responsibility is mine as well."

Strange how Till can use such few words and still manage to put more things in perspective than the younger man ever could. Richard smiles with a mixture of sadness, relief and gratitude, burying his face into the other's chest.

"I can do this, Till. I'll make it work for you if nothing else."

" _We_ ," the older man corrects him gently, smiling in that beautifully innocent way that he very rarely does, and Richard is utterly enamored. "we'll make it work for all of us."

They are lulled to sleep together, the last of the sun stretching across the room and their barely-clothed bodies; the last thing Richard hears is the regular beating of Till's heart in his ear and the light tickling of his breath on his forehead. Till is so warm and despite his bulk is surprisingly accommodating next to him, he's far better than a bed or duvet. It is every bit as awkward and beautifully comforting as he'd imagined, the sound of Till's heartbeat better than any poetry or song, and he wouldn't want to exchange it for the world. He squints towards the general direction of the workshop and manages a triumphant smile with the knowledge that he makes far better company than a basket.

\-----

The next morning, Till wakes up first and carries Richard to the bedroom, laying him gently out on the bed. But he then turns and leaves him lying there alone, locking himself in his workshop for three hours and not answering to Richard's (somewhat-hurt sounding) calls for breakfast or pleas to talk to him. He then comes out of there with the very basket that he'd been making the day prior - the last basket he would ever weave - which is filled with little bits of ribbon, confetti, fine Belgian chocolate truffles and a handwritten letter of appreciation and hands it over to Richard without a word. Till then goes into the bathroom and takes a long shower, and Richard can't help but wonder whether he was just being an asshole about this whole basket thing.


	2. 'Du meinst ja und ich denk nein'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer as previously stated** , I don't own anything nor know the members of Rammstein, this is strictly a work of fiction.
> 
> Okay, here be the second chapter. I'll upload the third one tomorrow, around... noon GMT. The third's how far I've got in DA and AFF.net, so from now uploads of subsequent chapters will be more of less done simultaneously on those three sites.
> 
> I didn't think this chapter was incredibly interesting when I wrote it, because I considered it to be over seven years' worth of Rammstein activity glossed over and condensed to its extreme. A lot of heavy filler. Filler is not a terribly interesting thing to write, and save for a few plot-important things, there isn't a lot going on in the first half of this chapter. Sad to say the navalgazing isn't over by a large amount, but after this things get a bit tighter because I focus more on smaller time frames. I'm quite proud of my characterisation of Paul, though, he is quite possibily one of the most entertaining things to write in this story.
> 
> I don't like it when fics ruthlessly demonize Caron Bernstein as if she was the only person who ever did wrong in her and Richard's marriage. So I've tried to avoid that as much as possible - things always have two sides, and should either Caron or Richard come off as too much a villain, this was not my intention. One of things I could improve on, if this is indeed the case. There isn't a lot of her in this fic, it being strongly Till/Richard and all, but given that the marriage did happen in real life, that needs respecting. Anyway, TL;DR note, on with the second chapter.

  
**Silence (Chapter 2)** \- _'Du meinst ja und ich denk nein'_

\-----------

Richard sits by himself by a windowsill in his house and grins at his own reflection on the glass. 'Sehnsucht' has been getting rave reviews from Germany and abroad, along with stirring up a fine load of controversy in the wake, and he couldn't be happier. That is exactly what the band revels in, not counting all the accusations about Nazism that they've gotten; _those_ , they've all laughed off publicly. Perhaps they can respond to those so-called critics and their misaimed white supremacist fans in the next album, calling them out both for being so ignorant and close-minded. It'd certainly be very satisfying.

Nearly five years on, and the guitarist can't exactly believe their success even now. Fame has found them all so suddenly that they're still not sure how to react to it. But they've been managing well, not getting into too much trouble within their personal lives and still managing to be prominent and sensational. Just the right balance. Out of all six of them, none of them have lost their heads completely over the sudden wave of popularity and fame. _It's working_ , the guitarist thinks, and every time he thinks that he feels pride for all of them swelling up inside him. They've worked together absolutely perfectly despite the (comparatively few) bumps in the road now and then. He wouldn't have managed it without his bandmates, they've been utterly fabulous. Richard is aware that this makes him sound like some gushing, immature member of a boy band and stifles a laugh. Next time an interview comes along, he might give his responses in that sort of style just for kicks.

Still, it is true, they _have_ been fantastic to work with. He leans against the glass and lets his mind wander to all of them; might as well do that while he's waiting, it's better than smoking or drinking.

Olli is the first person that Richard got to join the project in its infancy, and he's always been a damn good sport about it for sure. For being the youngest member of the band, and not getting a very prominent spot onstage, he's gained a huge amount of respect. It might be something to do with his height; he towers over _everyone_ in the band, making him just as imposing as the lead singer but in a different way altogether. Olli is a very slim man, wiry and almost entirely taut muscle, compared to the more bulky and solidly built Till. He's also a very quiet person, barely speaking even when just amongst the other band members, and Richard knows that this is because he can be rather shy sometimes. But within this silence resides a surprisingly soulful personality, and he sometimes goes and sits next to Till when he's writing, contributing occasional suggestions that are more often than not accepted and incorporated into the lyrics. The singer also prefers to have a bassline along with a new set of lyrics before he even reveals the contents of his notepad to others, so he and the bassist are very often found together, collaborating and sometimes laughing about the most minor things. Richard smiles and admits to himself that Olli is truly quite endearing. It's not surprising that he's very fond of him, considering at one point he, Olli and Schneider lived together and they were genuinely no strangers to each other even before any of this happened.

Schneider, along with the bassist, also joined up very early. Richard was admittedly quite nervous at first about his presence, knowing that he would replace Till as drummer, though it would be hyperbole to state that he was more nervous about the whole thing than Schneider himself was. Till was older than the man and even though they were acquainted and neither were at all malicious by nature, there could have been resentment involved. The first meeting between him and Till as members of Rammstein, however, went so well that Richard hasn't doubted their relationship since. The two still aren't quite as close as Olli is to Till, for example, and there is certainly a little bit of rivalry going on; but it was Till who approved the man's choice of nickname ('Doom') first and they consult each other most often when discussing sets. Logical, really - Till is at the very front and Schneider is at the very back, so between them they have the best overall point of view around the stage. Despite his apparent aloofness, he's settled in very well into the atmosphere of the band, being very attached to Paul in particular and putting in all he can for every performance. Certainly admirable. It was between him, Till, Richard and Olli that Rammstein was first created; but they wouldn't have been complete without two others.

Paul joined them surprisingly late; but he was enthusiastic about the band's potential after he had listened to their four demos. He's quite possibly the most cheerful man in the band, quite a contrast between the stoic Till or even his _own_ persona on stage where he constantly maintains a deadpan stare. Richard also swears to himself that Paul can read minds somehow, he has a truly incredible ability to maintain balance between two or more people and ease tensions whenever they arise. He's the mediator of the six, being perhaps more in control of his emotions than any of them; it's not to say that he doesn't have his own share of problems in life, but he always manages to see the humour in it.

"Paul is a plain name," he'd stated over a few beers only a couple of weeks ago, in high spirits and chuckling about it. "plain as dirt. I sometimes wonder if I'd have been considered different and doubly fitting for Rammstein if I'd kept my old name! But no. I don't think I would ever go back to using that one. I'd have to be on the run for that, and even then it'd be a horrible idea."

"Not even if we promoted you to lead guitarist in celebration of your unique and original name?" Till had joked, winking at Richard and making all three of them burst into laughter.

"Not even if you demoted Risch," Paul had leant back while taking a swig from his stein, giggling. "what the hell kind of name is _Heiko_. Seriously."

But despite his stage persona and infamous dislike of his original name, he doesn't have a single bit of malice in him, and Richard is grateful that he is there for all of them. Nearly four years on and he is still bright and cheerful as ever with a worldview reminiscent of a young boy despite being almost as old as Till. No, Paul was never and still isn't any trouble.

Surprisingly, the bandmate that Richard's had the most problems with in the past is not Till but Christian Lorenz (preferred name Flake, seeing as he hates his birth name like almost everybody in the band). He's perhaps the strangest member of the band from appearance alone, being so tall and skinny and looking quite out of place with his keyboard amongst the rest. But the bottom line is that Rammstein's style would not have deviated from the common fare had it not been for Flake, and the man is so sophisticated and eloquent that one can't help but respect him. From the beginning, he kept on insisting that he didn't belong in their chosen genre of music, he was a _keyboardist_ and what could someone like that contribute to a metal band, no matter how many times he tried to persuade the man that his ability was precisely why he was wanted. It took Till and Schneider taking Flake aside one night (in an early example of collaboration between the two), buying a few drinks between them, and later singing a few songs for the man to cave in and agree to joining the band. He and Till have struck up a special sort of friendship since then; they can't be physically any more different, but they share surprisingly similar outlooks in life and they sit together with Olli and discuss lyrics all the time. Flake always keeps on insisting that when he stops feeling like his contributions will mean anything, he will leave Rammstein; everyone always responds with the same thing, that there _will_ be no more Rammstein if even one of them leaves, and hearing this always seems to please the keyboardist in a curious way.

It's in all those little ways that Till has done his part for Rammstein's chemistry. Richard didn't expect him to contribute half as much as he ended up contributing at this point - it's not even as if the man is particularly talkative or good with people, but it is he rather than anyone else who's doing the most to keep the band together, all the while not even actively trying. 'Team player' doesn't exactly describe Till, and neither does 'self-concerned'. Till is concerned with what benefits all six of them collectively the most at that precise moment in time, he is also immensely talented at judging those things, and that's really just the end of it. Richard might have put together the band in the first place, but the singer keeps it going as the frontman, and he's quite happy to acknowledge that. Richard is snapped out of his thoughts when a large black car drives up to his door, five men with instruments and amps in hand disembarking from it, and he rushes out to open the door and greet his bandmates with a smile. This is how things should be.

\-----

Which, in turn, directs the subject to their live performances.

'Unconventional' and 'bizarre' don't even begin to cover it. With some of the ideas the singer comes up with, Richard wonders if Till ever stays awake for days on end just to devise those stunts in his head. Fire in its many forms is simply the beginning; everyone in the band has to be playing an instrument or singing into a mic that's on fire at least once, for every single performance. It's not a rule by any means, but by this point it's not a Rammstein show anymore if that doesn't happen. All of this is supervised mostly by Till, who's a licensed pyrotechnician now, and they all know enough about it to play around with it as much as they want on stage.

Richard loves it, being so close to the warmth, his vision blurring and distorted into beauty whenever he looks at the audience past their pyrotechnics. Everyone in the band has embraced this love of fire wholeheartedly, but none quite as readily as Till. who desires flames for the sensation of it tickling his skin, actually burning through the top layer of his flesh and giving him the most delectable high mixed with the pain. Finding out that the older man was a masochist for fire was one of the most enlightening and amusing moments of Richard's life. Sometimes one of them will catch Till repeatedly swiping a finger quickly through the lit flame of a candle and laughing almost childishly at himself, which is always worth a chuckle amongst them.

But even without fire, they've done some very off-the-wall things. This is where Flake comes in; it'd be an insult to leave him out of this particular discussion. For someone who appears to be uptight about so many things, when it comes to insane stunts he operates pretty much on the same wavelength as Till. It is usually him who gets the short end of the stick when it comes to their stage shows, but the singer always makes sure that he isn't offended by anything. But the list of what apparently _doesn't_ offend Flake makes for an extremely surprising read: he's been crowd-sailing on a rubber boat dozens of times, has partaken in some bizarre dances onstage (which are actually the most dangerous stunts of all, because of everything _else_ going on there), is usually pushed about by one or more of them - and to top it off, he's been kissed and faux-sodomized by Till. All without much complaining.

The kiss was an odd one, a one-time thing - they'd been playing a normal gig and weren't getting an overwhelming response, so Till had simply run up to Flake, grasped his face in both hands and had kissed him right on the lips. The crowd sufficiently excited by this, both of them had just gone right back to performing as if nothing had ever happened. Richard does feel a rather uncomfortable sensation coiling up deep inside him whenever he thinks of that kiss, even though the singer had apologized to Flake for it after the gig and was forgiven very easily in turn. He doesn't quite understand why it bothers him that much, but nothing has been said of it since from either one of them, and he's really not one to talk.

More importantly, their most infamous stunt takes place whenever they perform 'Bück Dich', and that goes right back to Flake and Till. A song with strong beats and very suggestive lyrics, very much in the style of Rammstein, but for a long time all of them had been completely stumped as to how to present the song onstage and make it interesting at the same time. They'd gone through many revisions and new additions during the planning of their 'Sehnsucht' tour, having one session after another, working things out a little more every time but never managing to come up with show-stopping ideas for that one song.

"Why don't..." Till had thrown up his hands, sinking back on his chair during one of those countless sessions. "I've got it. Why don't I just... pretend to sodomize the hell out of Flake with a dildo. It fits with the lyrics, no messing around with symbolism there. We've been thinking about this for weeks and I honestly can't think of anything better."

Paul's jaw had dropped at the suggestion, and Schneider in particular had looked shocked. But nothing could have prepared them for Flake's reaction.

"Sounds fun, actually," the keyboardist had said nonchalantly, rubbing his chin. "but that alone is probably just pure offensive and even plainly illegal depending on where we are. Why just have a dildo, when we can have one that... shoots a jet of liquid for three minutes straight? That probably puts it safely beyond offensive and makes it a _performance_ , don't you agree?"

"We'll get to work," Till had responded (considerably perked up by this rare approval) and the two men had dismissed the meeting immediately afterwards, looking very pleased with themselves and completely ignoring the shock and bemusement on the others' faces. True to their word, the two had developed that idea to make it presentable, and thus another controversy was added to Rammstein's record.

The first few times, it had not gone too well because of the choice of liquid rather than anything else - milk had turned out to be a terrible choice because whilst in the hose and under stage lighting it proved to have too much of a persistent odor. "This is the worst idea you guys have _ever_ had," Paul had cried backstage after one such incident, nearly in tears, having had full exposure to the odor for nearly two hours because of his stage position. "you're never doing that again unless you come up with something else. That was terrible. _You're_ both terrible. You twisted bastards. How do you two even _sleep_ at night."

Powdered milk was just as horrible, if not even worse, of an idea because it clogged up the hose completely. Finally Flake had decided on a mixture of anise liquor and water because it 'smelled far better' - a remark delivered in a dissonantly calm tone, but considering the infamy of the stunt (despite all their efforts, it even got Till and Flake both arrested while they were in the US), there was really no sense in questioning it by that point. None of this would have worked without Till and Flake's odd chemistry on the stage. It helps that the singer is an almost completely different person when he's performing live, glowering at the audience and aggressively stalking his way around the stage. He's a raw beast, wild, unrestrained, terrifying - and at the same time insanely alluring. The fans can't get enough of him.

But Till's true virtue is behind all of that. It's in the way that he reverts into the more down-to-earth, quiet Till backstage while still managing to entertain his fans. It's in the way that he ran forwards to save a section of the front row of the audience when a burning stage prop fell on them in 1996, all the while calling out (pretty calmly for the situation, too) for the rest of them to keep on playing. Richard thinks about how he'd rejoined them at the end of the song and had finished on an epic climax, and immediately proceeded to drop the macho facade and call out to the fans: " _Alles da?_ " If not for that accident and Till's courage, they wouldn't be playing with fire so extensively in their concerts now.

Nevertheless, it still took Richard a major contest, having four professional demos recorded and making two full albums with Rammstein before he realized that Till has an amazing gift of _stillness_. Forget his stage persona, forget his arguably questionable sanity when it comes to their stunts, even his relationship to everyone else in the band. It is impossible to fully see the man that is Till with pictures and recordings of their gigs, interviews or backstage meetings with fans. No, Till is best represented when he is simply sitting by his desk, working on his poetry, a sight that Richard only seldom sees himself. The singer is ever so quiet in times like those, breaking his silence only to murmur something to himself or tap out the metre of a poem to test its flow - this is a silence comparable to his pre-Rammstein days, when he weaved baskets and communicated with his expressions and simple gestures more than speech.

Listening to Till's voice is a wonderful experience, but seeing the man so quiet and in harmony with his surroundings is a different kind of sublime altogether. There is somehow more beauty to his voice when he's been voluntarily withholding it for a while. Because _he_ knows this, and no one else has quite realized yet, Richard is quite honored and he grows to near idolize the man deep inside his heart. The fans might see a ferocious sex god, the other four members of Rammstein might see a rather hilariously outlandish man, but for the guitarist Till is his highly-expressive, soulful and even quite _sweet_ best friend and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Until 1999, this is how things are between them. But then Richard gets married to who he thinks is the answer to all of his problems, and Till ceases to approach him in response. He doesn't notice at first, but the lingering absence of the older man eventually gets to him; whilst unrelated to Till in general, it isn't very long before everything spirals out of control.

\-----

It comes to him as naturally as anything at the start. His feelings for Till have been manifesting as simply appreciation and gratitude since 1994, for being by his side all those years - he still feels ecstatic whenever they're performing live and the older man touches him, or when he's writing a song and thanks Richard for his input, but he certainly doesn't think that it's anything more than that. If Till's feelings towards Richard are similar he shows it even less. So when Richard first meets Caron Bernstein he is convinced that she is the woman for him, and he falls very quickly into what he thinks is romantic love, desire with substance and reason. The wedding follows after months of serious dating - he even composes the music for it beforehand with a light heart and an utter conviction that this is what he's looking for. The downfall is even more cruel because his life is very smooth-sailing during the next couple of years, both in marriage and within the band. He simply never sees the storm coming.

The third album that any band produces is always the best that they will make. Unfortunately, the burn-out afterwards will also always be the roughest period that said band will ever experience. This is a very important lesson that the guitarist learns when they finish making 'Mutter', their third album and one that is far superior to their previous two. He doesn't recall 'Mutter' being a very difficult album to _make_ , but the entire band has put so much soul into producing it, that by the time it's out they've barely got any more spirit left in them. This is where all their insecurities start showing through, where the cracks begin to appear on the surface. It is Flake who suggests that they should probably take a break from everything for a while after they're done touring, maybe for six months or a year and see what they feel like afterwards - his suggestion is still heavily underlined with his usual cynicism towards how long the band could potentially last, which does slightly irritate Richard, but there's really no denying that it's a sensible idea. They need to recharge their batteries, as such. In retrospective, it was very considerate of the keyboardist to come up with this suggestion before tensions boiled over; in some of the years to come, they aren't quite as lucky.

But Richard isn't really thinking of the future of Rammstein during their year off. Everyone else seems to be having a fairly good time, with Paul in particular spending time with family and travelling everywhere. They still occasionally arrange meetings and practice their songs but it's hardly a regular or a necessary thing; all six of them get to know each other as friends and _real people_ all over again rather than focusing on their professional relationships within the band. At least, Richard would do so more often if he hadn't relocated to the United States with his wife. It's by no means a _bad_ decision, he genuinely loves the country and he is fluent enough in English to live comfortably there, but he's barely three months into the hiatus when his relationship with Caron starts breaking apart without him having the slightest clue to _why_.

She becomes more and more suspicious of him, always accusing him of being out of the house too often. Richard tries to respond logically to this by telling her that this is honestly _not_ the case, because he's taking the year off, but this doesn't seem to make her feel any better - rather, it seems to fuel her suspicions even more. At first he just tells himself that Caron must have been upset with him because he was gone so long. What wife wouldn't be? But the more it goes on, the more ridiculous it seems until he starts thinking that perhaps logic isn't his wife's strong point, as horribly misogynistic as that sounds. It's incredible, the kinds of things that Caron disapproves of. She doesn't like him cluttering the house with his guitars, she doesn't like him 'not being around for his daughter enough', and even though he's putting in the minimal amount of effort possible towards for the band to please her, it's not quite enough. But it's not until she starts passive-aggressively criticizing other members of the band itself that Richard starts actively losing his patience with her; what exactly Till's mohawk or the conversations he has with Paul about guitar stands over the phone has to do with their marital relationship, he has absolutely no idea. But he's provoked enough by it that he starts reacting out of pure spite before long, purposefully refusing to occupy the same room as Caron and shutting himself in the practice room for hours when he should be in bed with her.

None of this solves anything, but it makes him feel triumphant for a little while. It's a hollow pleasure. In return she starts leaving without so much as a word, returning without explanations hours or even a full day after. They haven't properly confronted each other on it, but it's a time bomb waiting to go off.

 _You didn't like how things were because I wasn't around half the time, but now that I am, you say that you don't like that either? Make up your goddamned mind, woman!_

A proper fight breaks out one morning when he's meant to have Till and Schneider (both in vacation near the area) over at his house for a drink and some casual practice; Caron storms out of the house and he knows that she won't be back until perhaps the next day. All the better to greet his guests with, he thinks bitterly - he's gathered that she's very opposed to him bringing his work home, whatever sense _that_ makes, and she's especially sensitive whenever he even talks about his bandmates. She spectacularly exploded when he'd informed her that a couple of them would actually be turning up on their doorstep. Now that she's made herself scarce, and Khira Li's at school, Richard has the entire house to himself. It's the ideal situation: his daughter certainly doesn't mind whenever anyone in the band comes over (she now calls Till 'uncle', and while the man's never commented on it, the way he kneels down to say hello to her and smile gives his feeling on the matter away) and they don't need to force themselves to keep on topic with Caron hovering over them like a hawk. It's all good. So why he's so utterly angered by the whole thing is beyond his understanding.

"When did you become so unhappy, you little bastard?" he whispers to himself. "when did you start hating your own wife so much?"

He is disturbed when he can't even begin to figure out an answer.

Till is the first to arrive at the house while the guitarist is busy mindlessly demonizing his wife and himself in turn. He immediately notices that something is wrong with the way that the younger man greets him, how he looks a little _off_ somehow, despite the two not having seen other for a couple of months. In classic Till fashion he skips all the small talk and directly asks him why he 'looks as if he wants to stab something in the face' as Richard leads them both into where he keeps all his guitars, amps and music stands.

"Caron and I had a fight," the younger man says as he glares down at his guitar. The instrument needs tuning so he gets to work - he's still absolutely furious, and it shows in the aggressive way that he swipes his fingers across the strings. The dissonant untuned sounds that he's producing do not help his mood. "damned woman. Won't give me a break. Asking me why I'm away so much with the band, as if it wasn't obvious from the beginning that it would be like this! I wouldn't be so bothered about this if she didn't move onto you after that, though."

Till raises an eyebrow, looking up from examining a guitar. "She did?"

"She told me to get my priorities straight, basically. 'Till's just a singer in the band, that's all', she said - I don't even know why we're still together. I really don't, when she's so unsupportive of what I'm doing. She always wants to tear out my throat about everything."

Looking back on it, he's not sure what he hoped to gain from telling this story to the older man. But whatever he was expecting, it's certainly not a look of disapproval from Till. "You know, I sometimes think you're forgetting a vital component of married life, Risch. Don't you care?"

"About what?"

" _Caron_ ," Till says, irritated. " _human being_. You might not _like_ her sometimes, Kruspe-Bernstein, but she is your wife and don't you think she deserves more respect? She could be the most annoying woman in the world but it's not as if she's trying to eat you alive, here. Caron needs to be listened to every now and then. Why not try that instead of just arguing? At this rate, it's not going to be the only fight that you'll get into with her."

Richard bristles at this remark. The older man is right, Caron is his wife and she deserves respect as such. Sure, she isn't quite the person he thought she was - she isn't _Till_ \- but the singer himself turned out to be quite different in the end as well. But nevertheless he'd thought perhaps Till might understand a bit more, considering how he's also been married before and how he's always been there for Richard. He certainly didn't foresee a stern telling-off. A part of him is impressed at the other's integrity and the other part just wants to shake him extremely hard by the shoulders and shout at him.  

"But you aren't _just_ a vocalist, Till," he shoots back. "you're more than that. Caron is a human being, yes, but you're one too," _God forbid, a truly incredible human being indeed_ , he wants to say, but holds back on that part. The other proceeds to acknowledge this comment by ignoring it completely.

"You're missing the point. And it's not exactly as if she was _wrong_ , Risch."

"But _I_ don't like it when you say things like that! You're an actor - a poet - the frontman of Rammstein amongst all the other things you've done! What the hell is wrong with you?"

Till sighs and rubs his forehead. "This is really not something that you can solve by simply refusing to accept it," he says resignedly, and leaves the room without another word. Richard stares at his back as the door shuts, and at least shows the sense to put his guitar down before picking up an unfolded music stand and hurling it against the wall. It hits the wall with a loud clanging noise and crashes down to the floor, having become partially unfolded by the impact. Richard gives it a couple of kicks for good measure, unaware that he is actually snarling. _How dare he_ , he screams in his mind as he sits back down on the chair, breathing hard and feeling rage and adrenaline coursing through his veins while trying to calm himself down. _How dare he just walk out on me, and especially after acting as if my marital life was any of his goddamned business-_

There's no point in getting himself even more worked up. It's enough that Caron's angered him that morning, and being hurt by Till being his bluntly-honest self isn't going to help. There really isn't much reason for him to be so riled up towards the singer anyway, he's just trying to give good advice, and besides Richard is sure that all this thumping and throwing random objects around the room isn't going to improve his opinion of the guitarist. So he takes a deep breath, forcing himself to exhale slowly, before picking up the music stand and setting it upright. He keeps breathing in and out slowly until he feels calm enough to move around a little more; he gets up, fetches a portable CD player/radio from the corner because it's the only thing in the room that he feels like he can handle without breaking it, and starts untangling the cords. While actually listening to something isn't the priority, the act of positioning it on the floor and plugging it into the wall socket makes him feel as if he's actually managed something productive, and that makes him feel a little better. He sits in front of it and gives it a small dust down, admiring his handiwork.

But there's no point in having a CD player that is plugged in and ready to use if he's not going to use it, is there? Richard checks to see if there's a CD in there, finding that there is: 'Herzeleid', their first album. _Sure, why not_. He pushes the tray back in and presses 'play'; he could let it play from the beginning, but the first track isn't quite doing it for him, so he skips through the songs mindlessly until he finds one that he feels like listening to.

" _Be- wahret-_ "

Ah. Perfect.

Richard leans back, supporting himself with both arms, hands pressed flat against the floor. It's a fitting song for what he's going through, for sure. It's a pretty unusual song even for their standards, and not really the best song to perform at concerts, but he's always quite liked it. He taps his fingers to the rhythm, gazing rather blankly at the CD player as he loses himself in his thoughts.

"... _vor- Herz- leid_!"

Everyone had been going through a degree of heartache in the band when they'd first formed, so naturally they had all decided that their collective suffering would be worked into their first album. Hardly more morbid than the average band's first output, but with Till's unique perspective towards love and the rest of the band pitching in with their own experiences, the album became both a personal and publicly-appealing hit. It's a common phenomenon, certain bands all over the world thinking of their earlier efforts as immature and even disowning them in some cases, but they certainly aren't going to find shame in _that_ one anytime soon. It was appropriate then, and it's certainly appropriate now, probably more than ever for the guitarist. Richard tells himself that he's not being very logical about Caron - it's really not as if he's the only one who has ever suffered some degree of woe in a marriage. Why is he victimizing himself?

" _Denn- kurz- ist- die- Zeit-_ "

He thinks about all the misery she puts him through, but he doesn't often consider the pain he must be putting her through. And even though he thinks that it's terrible, what he's doing - somehow he's having genuine problems conciling that to himself. How can he feel so detached from what he's doing to his own wife?

" _die- ihr- bei- sammen- seid_!"

Richard chews on his lip, feeling strange. He's been married to Caron for more than a couple of years now, quite safely past the initial 'honeymoon' period where it had seemed like nothing would ever go wrong. Khira Li quite likes Caron, even though they will likely not progress beyond simply stepmother and stepdaughter (and that's a _different_ convoluted story altogether), and that aspect of his life is still somewhat normal. Nevertheless, Richard tries to trace certain events back to where things started to go sour; he can't pinpoint it exactly, but her resentment seems to have stemmed from the beginning of their 'Mutter' tour. Just about the time where Richard began touring again with the band and would be absent from the house most of the time. It's all beginning to make some sort of sense, but the guitarist for the life of him can't comprehend why it took so long for her to realize this and why she started _resenting_ him for it, when he made it very clear from the start that he couldn't exactly be a family man in the traditional sense of the word. Being a model, it wasn't as if she was in a superior position to begin with when it came to family matters.

" _...sie- wie- Minuten- euch- Schei-nen..._!"

He glances at the CD player, frowning. Quite honestly, it doesn't feel like mere minutes to him. Till claims that time spent with a true love would go by far too fast for anyone to bear; well, if that's the case, he certainly can't wait to feel like he's reached _that_ stage for sure. Right now every second he spends with Caron feels like an agonizing eternity, and it's not long before one of them breaks the tension and hell breaks loose. The honeymoon period was good while it lasted, and it certainly lasted for a blissfully long time, but it's actually somewhat spectacular how things have fallen apart within a single year. Caron is hardly home nowadays, even though he took the year off to be with her and Khira Li, and whenever she's home it's not long before she or Richard leaves again. And he quite frankly can't wait for those times to come along so that he can be left in peace.

" _Her-ze-leid_!"

That is not a good thing.

" _Her-ze-leid_!"

Richard shudders and pushes away the thoughts in his head. He directs his attention towards the song instead, staunchly refusing to associate it with his own marital troubles and focusing on Till's voice. 'Herzeleid' is not the best track in the titular album, but he'd be damned if Till's vocals in it weren't some of his finest. Apart from the unusual style of the song - completely lacking an intro, instead launching straight into Till's aggressive vocals - it's also one that shows off the singer's grasp on the German language very well. His elocution is good, a near flawless theatrical German with magnificently rolled 'r's and 'ch's growled at the back of his throat. It's also a very straightforward song by Till's standards, with his intentions spelled out as clearly as anything in the lyrics. No fooling around with metaphors there (although metaphors certainly aren't a bad thing), just simple brutal honesty.

"... _der- Zwei- sam- keit_!"

How Till manages to be so fluid with words is anyone's guess. The guitarist manages a small smile at hearing his favourite word in the song; ' _zweisamkeit_ ', the counterpart to ' _einsamkeit_ '. Two and one. ' _Togetherness_ ' and ' _loneliness_ '. Very different things, but - as Richard will note, referring to his own situation - both just as misery-inducing as one another. Absolutely sublime. The man is a maestro. A six-feet-four-inches tall pyromaniac maestro who's most certainly a little crazy, revels in pain and gives completely unwanted yet incredibly sensible advice. Richard actually lets out a small chuckle at that.

The song is finished; Richard doesn't feel completely better, but at least it was cathartic. He keeps pressing 'next', but really he's more interested now in pondering whether he should continue tuning his guitar and maybe invite Till back in for an apology. He's also thinking about perhaps calling Caron after Till and Schneider leave, just to check when she's coming home and just to tell her that he still loves her very much. His contemplations are rudely interrupted when an intro of church bells suddenly start playing from the CD player; Richard flinches and hurriedly slams the 'eject' button before it can play any further, the room falling silent after the initial click of the CD tray popping loose.

It can't have played for longer than five seconds. But Richard was five seconds too late to shut it off; against his will, the song keeps going inside his head, playing out the tale of a deranged man and his deceased beloved. 'Heirate Mich' was always far more about Till's own heartache and rather disturbed thoughts about the whole situation than anything else, spun with a generous dose of gruesome, but Richard admittedly has never put too much thought into the meaning of the song. Rather, all he can think about now is how they used to perform it live, and how he'd always thought of it as _their_ song; he doesn't need to look any further than 'Live Aus Berlin' to see their interaction during that song faithfully preserved there. _Every_ performance he would go to Paul first - depending on the older guitarist's mood, he would either completely ignore the singer or show extreme affection for him. Till would then crawl over to Richard and snuggle against his waist while growling 'marry me!' into the mic, and Richard would always reciprocate by gleefully pulling him close and singing along with him.

It's all coming back to him. Richard clutches at his head, rubbing at his temples and trying to get a grip on himself, but it's easier said than done. He thinks back to when they had released the first video of their performances that would become 'Live Aus Berlin' - Till had simply found it utterly hilarious how it pretended that the performance of 'Bück Dich' had never existed, and for a long time that was all anyone in the band remembered it for. But when it came to editing the actual footage that they had shot, Richard had looked them over personally once, and when they got to the extended section of 'Heirate Mich' he'd peered in close - and (much to his surprise and pleasure) saw that while Till and he had been singing together, the singer had gained a truly blissful grin on his face afterwards. This discovery had filled him with much cheerfulness and he'd smiled for days afterwards, prompting the entire band to ask about it at some point (he'd always answer 'Nothing, I'm just happy, that's all!' and scoot away before he started grinning like a maniac all over again). But he'd also had the pleasant feeling throughout that period that Till had known perfectly _why_ , and had informed him of this by throwing the guitarist secretive, mischievous glances every now and then.

But why _had_ he been so happy in the first place? Hell, why had _Till_ been so happy back that night in 1998? Even back then Richard hadn't asked himself those questions, so why they're all coming _now_ , he has absolutely no idea. He wonders if Till's smile had just been an act for the stage and is surprised at how violently his mind rejects that thought, almost as if he's disturbed by the idea of Till's affection for him not being rooted in reality. Of course the singer cares for him, it'd be ridiculous to think otherwise, but at the same time it wouldn't be too far-fetched for that one little smile of Till's to have been an act. The older man's done much more sensational things onstage, it's genuinely not something worth being bothered about. He's done much more to Flake.

As much as Richard tells himself that, though, he _is_ very much bothered. He's not at all soothed by the adjacent realization that he's reacting far more emotionally towards one single moment with Till than to his entire relationship with his wife, either. As he's trying to make sense of all this, there is the rustle of something sliding under the door. Richard gets up for a look, recognizing that it's a folded note with Till's handwriting spelling out his name. At this he inhales sharply, his mind suddenly filled with dread and racing with a myriad of possibilities; there's a voice shouting _don't look, don't read it, you get rid of that thing **right now**_ in his head, but almost mechanically he reaches for it with trembling fingers and picks it up.

 _Schneider says that he will be a little late, but he'll be here by two o'clock. I'm going for a walk and some lunch and will return around the same time. I hope you will feel better soon._

 _PS: Remember that you and Caron are beyond just being 'together'. Be good to her so that it will last._

 _\- Till_

Just as he finishes the note, there is the click of the front door closing from outside. That's all it takes before Richard completely and utterly freaks out.

Of course he's aware that he's in a room with his prized guitars and other instruments that would cost hundreds and maybe thousands to replace if he broke them in a fit of rage. So he at least has the presence of mind to run outside and slam the door shut behind him, frantically rushing to the kitchen and grabbing himself a half-empty bottle of whiskey that he hurriedly downs and throws against the wall as his breakdown kicks in. It harmlessly bounces off the surface and comes to rest on the carpet, but he's beyond caring as he actually lets out a raw scream of pure horror and starts throwing whatever is at his reach across the kitchen. It's not an extended panic attack the way it happens in films, in the sense that he stops completely within a minute because his throat is raw from screaming, but his head is pounding so hard that he actually feels sick and faint and he needs to sit down. Richard sinks onto the floor and stares ahead with wild eyes; he's not even managed to break that many things, most of the objects that he's thrown having landed on the carpet or not being breakable in the first place. Two teaspoons and one of his sets of keys are amongst those objects, closest to his reach, and he numbly picks them up with shaking fingers and stares at them, lying on his palms. He's broken an expensive china mug that Caron likes, though, and has chipped the edge of a plate, but that's about it.

 _He was listening_ , a voice in Richard's mind screams. _Till was just outside the door all along, listening to me listening to his voice. He's figured out everything, otherwise he wouldn't have left the house with such a note to show for it. He knows everything. He knows me. **He knows**_.

Without really knowing what he is doing or what's going on, Richard hoists himself up on his feet and heads towards the large kitchen cabinet where he gets out a dustpan and brush. He cleans up the mess and shoves it into the bin; if Caron finds out about her broken mug, she'll have another round of ammunition to rile him with. Best to get rid of it and pretend he doesn't know a thing - at least, he thinks that until he realizes that she'll blame him anyway, with or without visible proof. Khira Li certainly didn't do it, for one, and that leaves only him as the possible culprit, because Caron most definitely left the mug on the table before she left. She might even start blaming Schneider or Till for it; it won't be the first time she's complained about them, It's really not as if she approves of either of them very much, and especially not the singer. Despite his breakdown, Richard still finds himself defensive at the thought - _not Till_ , he wants to shout to her, _don't start on Till, none of this is his fault, stop being such a hag_. Then he's brought back down to earth, reminds himself that Caron hasn't done anything, and just decides that he'll confess to it when she comes home instead of letting things ever escalate to that point. Better he take the blame than the older man, because it _was_ Richard's fault and it might be good for him to actually admit to being wrong for once.

Richard suddenly feels very tired. He looks at the clock; half past twelve. Another hour and a half before Till will come back with Schneider in tow. It's strange to think that it's still early noon, and that Till was in the house with him barely ten minutes ago; he feels a knot clench in his heart when he thinks of the singer and how he was driven out of the house less than an hour after arrival all because Richard couldn't keep his problems to himself. Why is he driving away everything good in his life?

He staggers to the bedroom and collapses on the bed that him and Caron share, letting out an exhausted groan. He buries his face into the pillows; they smell of his own faintly smoky scent, mingled with Caron's sweet light perfume. He used to find that perfume ever so pleasant, but he can't feel anything for it now. No, all he can think about is that one memory, a long time ago, when he had spent a night at Till's house - the latter had been weaving a basket just for him, and they'd managed to have a little heart-to-heart, eventually falling asleep together on the couch. He remembers being pressed against the other's chest, inhaling his warm, slightly dusty musk, which had been such an unexpectedly comforting scent that Richard could imagine it for days afterward. Even now he can close his eyes and recreate it in his mind if he focuses hard enough. Memories flood his mind yet again, and by this point Richard is so disheartened that he just lies there and lets it happen. He remembers how their hands brushed, just for that one moment, when Till had handed over that basket. How Olli and Till went out for a spontaneous photo trip one day, and had returned drunk and giggling with rolls of film depicting nothing much in particular. How he had helped the singer edit some of his lyrics, dozens of times, whether they were used for songs or not - because the older man would give him nods of approval and sometimes comment on a literary technique or two, keeping their conversations interesting.

How Till had gazed at him in his suit with a vacant and almost sad expression at his wedding, and yet had sincerely wished him and Caron happiness, making an eloquent speech and toasting them. How, since after their wedding, Till has been avoiding him onstage in favour of Paul or Flake. This is true - the band no longer performs _their_ song live anymore, with the only comment on it being that they can't have a redundant setlist. Fair enough, but this means that Till no longer nuzzles into Richard's waist nor sings with him into the same mic. But he's become more fond of 'torturing' Flake for sure, just randomly slapping him around or seemingly abusing him in the middle of songs - this really just translates to the keyboardist getting more of Till's attention, especially seeing as the two laugh it off after every performance and the singer never goes beyond what Flake can tolerate. Even Olli probably gets more interaction with the older man when they perform live. Suddenly the image of Till kissing Flake rises too clearly in his mind for comfort, and it is with considerable effort that he pushes it away. Richard knows that he might just be extrapolating things, but whatever all of this means, he feels utterly abandoned and that's one thing he's certain of. He and Till have crossed over at the wrong time and place - the older man was closest to him when Richard was at the position to appreciate it the least, and now the reversal has happened. Now it's the singer who thinks it courtesy to leave him alone in his bitterness while he thinks of the other's lyrics and how they suddenly seem to have been written to specially address his situation.

Was Till attempting to communicate with him through his songs for all of those years?

' _Heirate mich..._ '

Richard feels as if he's about to start crying, but he's far too old to do so and expect it to get him anywhere. He tries to muster up the tears anyway, hoping that the act itself might calm him down a little, but the tears have dried up a long time ago. Meanwhile the knot in his chest tightens further, Till's haunting vocals echoing in his mind, driving him insane with guilt and hurt and desperation. So the guitarist does the next thing he can think of, and buries his face into his hands, digging his fingers into the skin while letting out a frustrated, tearless sob and wishing that he were dead.

 _You've been wrong about everything all this time._


	3. 'Und die Welt zählt laut bis zehn'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer as previously stated.
> 
> Okay, the story is up to date with AFF.net and DA now. The 4th chapter is underway and I'll update that one in all three places simultaenously.
> 
> This chapter is pretty heavy on the filler, but hopefully not as much as the second chapter. What I feel it does lack is significant Till/Richard interaction save for the beginning. I scheduled the major scenes with them towards the latter parts of the fic, and the fourth chapter is very heavily focused on the two of them.
> 
> More expansion on Paul's character is underway. He's so fun to write that I really have to remind myself that this fic isn't about him sometimes. x_x

  
**Silence (Chapter 3)** \- ' _Und die Welt zählt laut bis zehn_ '

\-----------

Till's advice to Richard never gets the opportunity to materialize. The guitarist knows that it was valid advice at the very least, because it's probably come from Till's own experiences, but it doesn't help him in the slightest because he's alienated Caron entirely. She's unhappy with the way things are, and they fight without either of them caring or even stopping for a second to ask: what are they even achieving with all of their arguments? The answer is nothing, and they both know it, but neither of them do anything about the matter. Richard feels empty about the whole thing and occasionally what Till said comes to mind, but he always manages to push it away because he's so convinced that he's in the right. So is Caron, unfortunately, and they both know that they won't agree on anything anymore, but neither of them care much about working it out. Rammstein comes out of their hiatus after a year as promised, refreshed and energized and eager to go on, and he takes that opportunity to bury himself in work and forget about his family troubles as much as he can.

Caron finally says that she'd had enough and that they should separate sometime during 2004, and Richard has nobody to blame but himself and nothing to state except for a tense silence and a nod. The unspoken ultimatum has been decided; he could haven chosen between the band and her, and it was the band who got his loyalty in the end. She leaves that very night, sparing him barely a glance as the door shuts in his face. If not for Khira Li sleeping in her bedroom he'd have left and gotten himself completely and utterly drunk, but instead he ends up sitting in the living room by himself and thinking about where it all went wrong, over and over again. Each time he comes to the same conclusion: it wasn't meant to be from the very beginning. She tormented him because she could not accept that he wouldn't be present all the time and he tormented her for being his wife and having those not-unrealistic expectations. He slept with other women, she got her own back at him through various means and ending their relationship once and for all - the word she used was 'separation' but Richard knows that she really meant 'divorce' and that she was perfectly aware that he understood. All just one huge cycle of hating and cheating and being unsatisfied.

He makes up for the lack of drowning his sorrows within a few days, when he meets up with the rest of the band in their rented flat to draft ideas for the release of 'Reise, Reise'. From the moment he walks in the door, disheveled and thin and clenching a cigarette between his lips, they all figure out that he's having serious trouble with his personal life. None of them are tactless enough to comment (which doesn't surprise Richard, that's just how he likes it, thank you very much), but Till in particular is giving him odd looks throughout their discussions. It's quite amusing how much they care and how much he doesn't, Richard thinks, before reprimanding himself for doing so. _They_ don't deserve it, none of what he's going through is their fault. He passes over their worried glances and thinks only of drinking himself comatose; he doesn't go out with the others that night, feeling too miserable to interact with other human beings or women in particular, but instead sits down with a few bottles of wine and steadily focuses on emptying them one glass at a time.

"Don't drink so much," Till finally tells him around half ten at night when he comes back, watching Richard trying to empty his third bottle of wine. "you've got a marriage to save, Risch."

"Marriage?" the guitarist starts laughing hysterically, pushing away the bottle and drunkenly staggering to his feet. "what are you talking about, Till?"

Till doesn't say anything, but his eyes darken and his expression becomes more melancholy when he realizes that Richard's marriage is dissolving and that it's probably too late to do anything about it. The guitarist expected all sorts of reactions from him - a sympathetic slap on the back followed by him taking the younger man out to get _more_ hideously drunk, perhaps, and the night would end with them loudly proclaiming that it would always be bros before hos before passing out on the floor or something. Even barely restricted joy from the man would have sufficed, although the younger man knows that it would have been tactless beyond belief, just so he can see that the singer has _some_ positive opinions about the whole thing. What he didn't expect was this look of almost-disappointment from Till, the one person who he thought might see the good in his upcoming divorce, and it just makes him feel more miserable. But as much as he wants to, he doesn't lash out this time. It's not worth it. He looks away from the other's concerned face and makes his way towards the refrigerator. "I've got cravings again. Paul said that he put canapés in the fridge last night, didn't he? He didn't eat them all, right?"

" _He_ didn't, but Schneider and Flake definitely did," Till informs him, still gazing at him worriedly. Richard curses out loud at this but nevertheless opens the fridge door to see if anything might be there; there is simply more alcohol in the form of vodka and beer, none of which he particularly fancies at the moment, and a few vol-au-vents that he can see are filled with prawns and he doesn't like prawns and even if he did he certainly wouldn't eat them while drunk because that could be disastrous. Best to leave them be.

But then, he can make these leaps of logic even with all the alcohol in him! Perhaps he's not too drunk after all. Richard manages another laugh as he shuts the fridge door, pleased with himself for coming to that conclusion. His good mood is deflated a little when he realizes that Till is staring at him as if he's gone mad, but he manages to keep himself in check with a cool glance before heading towards the bedroom. An exit with both style and grace, just like Herr Richard Z. Kruspe-Bernstein always does.

Well, less so the last bit of that name. _Probably should have it legally dropped again soon, the bitch_ , he thinks, before letting out a demented chuckle. It'd be sad if he wasn't so drunk and if it wasn't so hilarious. He takes off his jacket and throws it over the back of a chair before collapsing right onto the bed where he sits there staring at the ceiling with his back pressed against the headboard. He feels the unpleasant sensation of his wallet digging into his thigh and takes it out of his pocket, feeling numb to everything as he opens it and mechanically reaches for the photo of him and Caron together and tears it up into shreds. He disposes of the pieces on the floor and closes his wallet, putting it aside before going back to staring blankly above him. It's going to be a hell of a hangover that he'll have tomorrow; if he isn't hungover by some miracle, he's still not going to feel at all better about himself, either. But he can't bring himself to care all that much. However, while he couldn't care less, Till certainly does, and strides into the room.

"Did I say that you could come in?" he slurs out without really thinking about what he's saying.

"Drink this," Till thrusts a glass of water into his hands, completely ignoring what he's said. Richard blinks at it but doesn't drink it or put it away. "I guess you're not planning on drinking more wine anytime soon, so do me a favor and drink that glass of water and _go to bed_."

"Yes, _Mutter_ ," Richard shoots back, but takes a reluctant sip anyway. The water slides down his throat and the coldness of it makes him want to gag, but he forces it down. A few more sips and suddenly it doesn't seem quite as bad. Till watches him down every single drop before he is satisfied and sits down next to the younger man.

They sit there for a while, Richard mindlessly tapping his fingernails around the empty glass.

"Caron and I made a horrible mistake," he finally opens his mouth, Till looking over at him. "talk about an unholy union. Should never have married. We stayed together because of Khira Li more than anything. I guess after a while she couldn't even bring herself to care about that aspect of her life. But then why would she really, she's not even her daughter, she's _mine_. Hell. she probably belongs more to _you_ than she ever belonged to Caron. We were just pretending all along."

The older man makes a startled movement at those words and the guitarist isn't sure whether to let out a cheer or apologize. Till is seldom shocked by anything. Being drunk is really paying off if he's actually managing to surprise the man multiple times in one night. "Don't say such things, Risch. I know you don't mean any of it."

"Oh, I _do_." Richard lets out a chuckle and slides downwards, fully lying on the bed with a grin on his face and feeling very lighthearted.

"Tomorrow morning you aren't going to remember any of this and you'll be asking me whether you were being an idiot. I'm certainly not going to lie when that happens."

"But it is true, Till. My daughter's name _is_ Khira Li Lindemann. Does this make you and her kind of related in a way? Or even you and me? All this wouldn't be happening if I didn't exist. I still wonder how you didn't beat the shit out of me back then when I first told you about her. I'm a real asshole."

"Believe me, you are," Till says humorlessly, but adjusts the pillows beneath the younger man. "but at least I got over it quickly because by that point it wasn't any of my business - and because you _look_ after your daughter. What's the point in bitching."

A giggle. "Some father I am. I'm certainly not looking after her right now when I could. You brought up Nele to be a wonderful girl despite being away with the band nearly half the time, _that's_ what you call a father. When I was depressed you came over and looked after Khira Li too, you're practically family to her. Sometimes I think she likes being around you more than me. Everyone would be so much better off if I disappeared out of their lives altogether. Oh God. This is so screwed up."

The singer doesn't even grace him with a reply, simply giving him a look that is both of disbelief and pity. The latter isn't something that the younger man expected, so he stares back at Till's face for what feels like an awfully long time, trying to search out more emotions. The singer doesn't appreciate being stared at, whether by drunk or sober people, and turns away.

"You're drunk, you're telling me a load of nonsense, and I think that you should stop talking," Till finally says with such a resolute tone that Richard briefly obeys without questioning him. The singer puts away the glass by the table and pushes Richard to the centre of the bed, making sure that he's in a comfortable enough position.

"It was all a horrible mistake," the guitarist mutters, the words sounding hollow even to himself. "we shouldn't have married each other. At least _that's_ getting amended."

"You're repeating yourself," something rustles beneath his body; the younger man looks over, but it's just Till pulling the duvet over him. "why don't you try to sleep."

"Fine," Richard scoffs as he turns his back on the singer. "some friend you are, not even wanting to hear me out. Because it's not like you're the _only_ person in my life who I can talk to right now, or anything. Go away."

He feels Till's weight shift away from the mattress as he stands up, and curls up slightly in response, trying to make himself look as unapproachable as possible. His hand brushes against his wallet again, and he opens it up, flicking through his cards and the messily tucked-in bills until he gets to the photo of his daughter smiling innocently at the camera. It is this picture that softens his heart, and he runs his fingers over the surface of the photo lightly, suddenly feeling sad. Till is still there, in the room with him, maybe watching him, but for the moment he doesn't have any of that in mind as he pulls the photo closer to him and softly recites a poem that the singer dedicated to his own daughter once.

" _Liebes Kind laß mich nicht weinen, vergebe meinem schwachen Hirn..._ "

Till inhales sharply as he hears the words, and Richard stops immediately, wondering if he's offended the older man in any way. After all, it might be an old poem of Till's that he was happy to publish, but it was and always will be for Nele. But the guitarist is reassured somewhat when he feels the mattress sink lightly beneath him, indicative of Till sitting back down. "You actually memorized that poem?"

"No father can read anything you wrote for your children and not engrave it into their minds."

For Richard it was just a simple honest answer, but Till has the heart of a poet; the guitarist realizes that he's taken that statement as a compliment of the highest caliber when he feels the older man's hand rest lightly on his upper arm. "Thank you for that. At least you aren't angry at me."

"I never was angry at you," Richard says, turning back around to face the other's form. He reaches out, hesitates, and rests his hand tentatively near Till's. "I still read your poem collection now and then-" this is a white lie, he actually reads it almost on a weekly basis. "-that's all, really. I keep reading them because they're _good_ and they're _honest_. More honest than I can ever be. I might not be a good father, but I _am_ one and I... I still want the best for my daughter. You understand that."

Till nods, but doesn't give a verbal response. The younger man closes his eyes, suddenly feeling very tired and empty; he feels the sheer amount of his anger and hatred that has been weighing him down only when they dissipate to nothingness. Regret and sadness flood his heart in their place, and he's not sure what to do about it or who to direct it towards.

"I do care for you, Till," Richard says, and it's only then the sense of loss fully kicks in. But it's not even directed towards Caron, which is the weird thing. He knows that it's a strange emotion to feel when Till is right there with him, even moreso because it's really not as if _they're_ going to be separated in the future. Richard and Till will now be working together much more closely if anything, perhaps even more than before, because they're the closest to each other in the band. So why he feels so lost is beyond his understanding.

"I know that you do," Till answers, and when the guitarist looks up he sees that the older man has the most inexplicable sadness etched into his expression. He lets one of his large warm hands caress Richard's, pausing noticeably at the guitarist's bare ring finger, before running one finger over the slight indentation left by the now-absent wedding band. It's soft, intimate, and at the same time utterly depressing. He waits for Till to comfort him, but he doesn't, and he doesn't know what he could say to comfort the older man in turn because he's been feeling sorry for himself. So they stay like that until the guitarist's head lolls back on the pillows and he falls into a deep, dreamless sleep, pretending that he doesn't care about the divorce papers arriving in the mail any time soon, about having to explain to his tearful daughter what has happened between him and Caron, about being so close to Till and at the same time so far away.

 _Oh well_.

Life goes on. That's fair enough. If only he could actually _not_ care about any of that bullshit.

That sounds like a really good idea right about now.

 _Happy tenth anniversary, Rammstein. Love you guys. If only I could love myself half as much._

\-----

Divorce is a very complicated business. Although the request for divorce and the papers come through soon afterwards, it's not finalized for a very long time and Richard has to endure dozens of meetings with Caron and their lawyers during this time. At least they don't have to sit through marriage counseling, and they're certainly not forced to live together or even talk that much to one another. The complicated part of it doesn't really have anything to do with legal issues; it's really more to do with the crushing depression that comes with the fact that he is a single father again, trying to not feel as if he's failed Khira Li and all the while slowly coming to terms with the fact that he's been a terrible husband. Caron might not have been a good wife, but he could have been a much better person towards her, and in the end he completely failed at being so. A nice charming realization to have to live with. Richard is at the later half of his thirties by this point, perfectly old enough to be able to handle himself but at the same time too young to really organize his entire life into perspective and foresee where he's going.

Left in New York City, alone in his house, Richard lives a very conflicted existence. Anybody who sees him during this period might look at the man - becoming more gaunt as time passes by, working all day and getting half drunk all night, crushing out what must be over a pack of cigarettes a day - and deem him in a state of depression and self-loathing. Paul and Olli certainly tell him as much when they visit, and even though none of the others say much about it Richard knows that they feel the same and are worried about him. It is true that he's still very depressed about Caron and relationships in general, but apart from that, Richard is actually feeling quite rejuvenated and _is_ slowly getting to grips with his own life again, even though he's still finding things rather difficult.

When not performing or otherwise aimlessly drifting around, now spends his time listening over and over to their albums and making his own attempts at writing. He doesn't think that he has half the talent that Till has, but he certainly dabbled in writing lyrics before - 'Engel' is his own work - and aiding the singer has taught him quite a lot of things regarding poetry and literature. He doesn't approach it with the mentality that it might be of use to the band some day. Rather, he writes things directed to himself, his bandmates and Khira Li. She's slowly becoming a teenager, eleven going on twelve, and beginning to grow up a lot faster than he thought she ever would. Till's seemingly out-of-character fondness towards children makes sense to him now. Khira Li's growing up to be a good girl despite all that he's put their family through, she still considers him the best father she can ever ask for, and even though she's showing hints of teenage rebellion he loves her for loving him so unconditionally. Just being able to express a fraction of these feelings on paper feels like a blessing. Perhaps this is why Till enjoys writing so much. He wouldn't be surprised if the older man had started composing poems purely as a method of catharsis.

His attitude towards their music also goes through a significant change. For the longest time Richard's been under the impression that their music has been arranged to the tune of what sounds best to all of them. While he's not wrong, he sometimes would get baffled at Till making slight tweaks to the overall arrangement (quite often in ways that would actually _strain_ his voice further) or firmly insisting that certain parts be played in certain ways when overall the changes would not be discernable to the normal ear. He understands now that Till did it less as a method of assuming vocal control and more of a corrective measure to fit the music to the lyrics. The singer was never concerned with being able to sing _comfortably_ in the first place - as long as it was possible to sing in concert and did not put excess pressure on the rest of the band, every song would become music and words with a soul, comfort be damned. It really does put it into perspective, how much the older man treasures words. The lyrics of one song, _any_ song, probably mean more to Till than their entire output does to the average fan.

Every night Richard pours himself a stiff drink and sits by his desk, choosing an album at random and putting it into his CD player. It's the same one that played 'Herzeleid' for him, back then, and it seems to have an uncanny ability to read his emotional state and make whatever song that suits his mood best stand out the most whenever he goes through this ritual (though that might just be the drink talking). He only chooses one song at a time, skipping everything else until something notable comes up, and listens to it until he feels like he's extracted the most out of it for the night. This isn't just applicable to their studio albums - rough demos, CDs of their live concerts, anything goes because listening to slightly different versions of their songs make for an interesting experience.

If he can't get more out of a song from just focusing on the lyrics, he then focuses on the layers of music beneath the words, and that's when he finds renewed confidence in their abilities and how they all have worked so wonderfully together over those years. Schneider's strong and prominent drumbeats (during 'Mein Teil', in particular), Flake's countless unique contributions to their sound, Paul's surprisingly fluid backup vocals and sense of rhythm, all underscored lovingly in Olli's barely-audible but very much present bassline. And there's also himself as the lead guitarist, adding his solos and his voice to the mix. They all merge together as a solid wall of sound, breathing soul into the words, and none of this would be possible if even one of them were missing. Over the days and weeks, Richard regains his confidence and learns to appreciate his input into the band. He learns to appreciate _himself_ , and he recognizes this development as essential to his recovery. And the more he does this, the more he feels like Till has based his poetry from not just his own life but from the lives of others, including Richard's own. It feels almost as if Till is _talking_ to him, throwing riddles at him, endlessly enigmatic yet holding an important message in every single one.

Occasionally he hears one that seems to reflect his situation perfectly, even though it certainly didn't feel that way back in the recording studio.

" _Ich habe Pläne; grosse Pläne! Ich baue dir ein Haus-_ "

Like that one, for example. Till claims that he wrote it after receiving one too many creepy marriage proposals from one of his fans, but to Richard it just seems like a swan song to him and Caron's so-called loving marriage. He has to laugh, really. Being alone in this house, in the country he left Germany for, really just hammers it in. _Heh. Speaking of hammers._

 _"Welch ein Klop-fen; welch ein Hämm-ern - draussen fängt es an zu dömm-ern..."_

 _Oh my God. I must be going insane._

But even though that really does make the point why one should never be friends with a writer, Richard is actually not at all upset about the whole thing. For one thing, Till might have really just written it from his own experiences. One must always refrain from assuming. And even if it was influenced from Richard's life, what of it? From his own point of view, it seems to be a fairly accurate view of what's happened, and it's about things now past anyway. Even ignoring that, it's a beautifully dark and powerful song, one of the guitarist's favorites from 'Reise, Reise' - good enough to be its own single. Because Till can still derive such beauty from what mostly consisted of pain and suffering, Richard doesn't feel like he's wasted years of his life on his doomed marriage. He feels as if he's beginning to heal.

 _I am listening, Till._

 _Speak to me._

And if he's lucky, his request is granted by a new hidden meaning being found whilst listening to a song. Richard treasures every single one of those realizations, writing them down on his notepad and rather fancying that he's getting to understand Till a little more, every day, every night, and for the moment that is enough.

\-----

But there is always a period of calm before the storm hits.

The rest of the band have been nothing but sympathetic to Richard's plight, which sort of makes him feel quite bad when he thinks about it - he's not the only one who's gone through a divorce, and not the only one to have been involved in a messy relationship either, but he seems to be the only one completely beating himself up over it. Till is supportive of him during this period in an odd way - he doesn't really say much to the guitarist, but he helps him out with the littlest things, sometimes bringing him dinner and other times just quietly sitting with him or sharing a drink. There's not much conversation going on, but he is very much there for Richard outside of band activity - he's letting him _heal_ \- and he is grateful. The singer's also slowly starting to approach him onstage again, though not quite as often as he used to. But while he is highly appreciative of Till's support, the younger man is more conflicted than ever when it comes to sorting out his feelings towards the man.

His divorce from Caron has brought him closer to the older man, that's for certain. They've moved up a step on the relationship ladder, from good friends to slightly more intimate ones, but Richard is really not sure if this is a good thing. 'Intimate friends' doesn't translate to _that_ kind of intimate, really, because it just means that they both know something about the other that they wouldn't trust with anybody else. Nothing to do with lust or desire. Or so Richard tells that to himself, anyway. The distant fantasy of Till's arms holding him fast against his chest and smiling at him has drfited back into his mind after lying dormant for so long, and it's come back with a vengeance. But what would he even say to Till even if that was the case?

 _So. Uh. Looks like I'm single again. Does this mean that we can be together now?_

Of course it doesn't. Richard would laugh at the thought if it was even slightly humorous, but that's not funny at all. Talk about one hell of a rebound.

Till won't appreciate being just a rebound. Who would? The guitarist certainly wouldn't either if he were in the other's shoes.

But there's the problem: Richard feels _something_ for Till, but it doesn't _feel_ very much like pure romance or lust while being certainly beyond just friendship. He has no idea what to make of this. Of course he admires the singer greatly, loves him as a dear friend and almost family, but does it go beyond that?

The more he agonizes about the situation, the more it _feels_ like he can understand his feelings towards the singer. It's not quite the desire to possess Till as his own, friend, lover or otherwise. Richard's known the man long enough to know that he can't be tied down at this point in life, as much as his heart aches at the very thought. Rather, it's the desire to _stop_ Till, stop him before care or lack of it can touch his body, to stop him at forty-one years of age before he steps off the brink and irreversibly hurtles into middle age. To stop him before either of them get into other relationships that they know that they can't handle. To stop him as they are, right now, precariously balanced and yet closer than ever before in their shared distress and hurt.

But time is cruel in its inability to waver. Before long, they're half a decade through the new millennium and the singer is forty-two years old. Eleven years of Rammstein, the start of a new decade in the band's history, and hopefully they can manage another. But he's quite strongly doubting that at the moment - 'Rosenrot' was met with lukewarm reception compared to their previous albums, and they can't say that they're very surprised at this because the album was little more than leftovers from 'Reise, Reise'. Rammstein is running out of steam, the media whispers around them, they're going to break up any day now. Richard honestly wouldn't be surprised if that ever happened, although it goes without saying that he'll fight tooth and nail to try to stop it any way he can.

 _Bother. Looks like it's time for another break._

\-----

Well.

It's actually a little more complicated than that.

\-----

Back in their 'Mutter' days, their collective hiatus was prompted by being genuinely exhausted after their three albums. It was a burn-out period, and for most part (Richard's marital problems don't count) having a year off definitely did help, considering they had been going on for nearly seven without a break. But they've barely been working for three years this time - their second break doesn't actually have much to do with a lack of creativity or needing a fresh new sound. No, the problem this time around is a serious breakdown in communications, within and outside the band.

The main problem is that they had _too much_ material for 'Reise, Reise' in the first place. Rejuvenated and excited for their new album, they simply ended up with so much that they couldn't possibly fit it into one single release. And it was meant to be a sort of comeback album, showcasing their harder, more industrial sound, so naturally the song selection became too biased in favor of 'Reise, Reise'; all the softer, unconventional songs got lumped into 'Rosenrot' instead. The individual songs are valuable in all of their own ways, and despite being released a year apart the two albums are perfectly contemporary to each other - but they have ended up severely unbalanced in style, actually worsening the problem. Richard can't help but think that they could have avoided all this by swapping just a couple of songs around. It would have saved a lot of angst from themselves and their critics.

That's not to say that 'Rosenrot' was a bad album. Richard spends over two weeks' worth of nights listening to every track on there as carefully as he can - the contents are somehow denser this time compared to their other songs, so it takes him a while to fully take it all in beyond what he heard in the recording studio. And this is unsettling to him because it implies that nobody but Till really understood the songs beyond the sheet music when they were practicing and recording them, and the singer pieced each layer of music together in a way that only meant something to him. But then, who can blame them, when the lyrics are at least twice as ambiguous compared to everything they've ever done?

This is really the sole downside of that album. It is far too much _Till_ and far too little _Rammstein_. Their fans love him, of course, it would be problematic to not adore his powerful voice and still claim to be a Rammstein fan, but the bottom line is that 'Rosenrot' simply doesn't represent the sound of the entire band all that well due to the unfortunate choice in song selection and timing. He must be feeling terrible, Richard can certainly sympathize - as the frontman, Till might be regarding the situation as his greatest failure, resulting in a major depression. The fact that their single massive hit in the album is 'Benzin', Till's ode to fire and its beauty in its ability to destroy - and the song that most closely resembles the style of 'Reise, Reise' - is really the final nail in that coffin.

What he's having more difficulty in sympathizing with is how aggressive and bitter this has made Till, and how staunchly he's refusing to be helped by the others. Till's phobia of the stage has emerged again, but he doesn't confirm it nor seek any sort of help from anyone. The guitarist confirms through repeated performances and stolen glances that Till stares ahead in the _direction_ of the audience when he's singing but never right _at_ them. He certainly doesn't lock his gaze with anyone, instead staring ahead at the lights at the very back of whatever arena they're in. Perhaps the audience don't really notice - the frontmost row is still at least five meters away from the stage anywhere they go, that's far enough - but Richard most certainly does, and when he watches the DVD of Völkerball, he ends up feeling incredibly bothered by Till's half-focused gaze within a couple of songs. It certainly looks like he's paying attention to the audience at first glance, but having seen many times what Till's eyes are really like when he's properly looking at people, his thousand-yard stare is uncomfortably obvious to Richard. He'd thought Till had gotten over his phobia, because he never commented on it after the band took off - perhaps the singer believed the exact same. Richard spends a couple of hours one day scrutinizing DVDs of their filmed performances, and again he proves to be correct; the singer's gaze was noticeably more focused and he certainly was making more attempt to meet eyes with people in the front row as far back as 'Live Aus Berlin'. It's not like that now. He's not singing to the audience or even the band anymore but to himself, blankly staring into the lights and searching for something that only he can recognize within them. Soulful, but it defeats the purpose of him being part of a team if that is indeed the case. The sudden downgrade can only be linked to his depression. The younger man would be happy to help if Till would just talk to him, but it frustrates him endlessly that he _won't_.

And that's another thing. The older man is more voluntarily quiet these days, but unlike before when his brief periods of silence served as a break for his vocal chords, in recent times it is simply to show his displeasure with something. This is not him being his quiet thoughtful self; in fact it is more akin to how Richard would treat Caron with spiteful silence and vice versa when they were on the last legs of their marriage. Till is of course a beautiful singer and performer onstage, and delights the audience while offstage he is quiet and calming to be around; _that_ is most appreciated, of course, after the noisiness of the performances. But beneath that Richard can't help but think that his friend is being selfish and unnecessarily frustrating, never showing _him_ his charms and flaunting it all only for an audience that he doesn't even look at properly. Sure, he is far from being a social outcast within the band, but Richard knows that there is far more to him that he's never shown anyone else. He's seen it a few times, of course, and had liked it, but what use is knowing that and longing for it if Till won't show him any more?

Till is a very irritating man to be around sometimes. Vocalists should never be silent for the sake of getting on everyone's nerves. That's just crazy. Then Richard goes on to hate himself for being such an impatient little bastard and crushes out a cigarette or ten.

All he wants is for Till to sit close to him and pour out his heart in song. All he wants is to lose himself in that wonderful bass-baritone. Unfortunately all Till seems to be doing nowadays with that angelic voice is complaining about everything, how he hates being on stage and how he's not satisfied with the lyrics he's written months after it's been set to music. When he's not complaining, he opts for stubborn silence instead just to get the message that he's unhappy through. It really grates on the nerves; the band seems to be in a permanently aggressive mood towards each other as it is, fighting about incredibly stupid things. They're only united when working on a song that they all agree should be played in a particular way, or when they're performing. The very same stage that Till dislikes with an intense passion. Richard could tear his hair out with frustration. It honestly says something when _Flake_ , the most cynical out of all of them, is doing the most to hold them together.

But then, he probably was the one most guarded against disillusionment all along - Flake never cared much for excess or even fame, and it'd be fair to say that he goes through life without expecting much of anything. Richard used to find that very down-to-earth at best and irritatingly pessimistic at worst, but he really has to acknowledge the other's advantage in this situation. Flake also possesses what basically equates to the patience of a rock, which really comes into play during this period when so many of the band members are reliant on him for his strict, fair attitude to everything. Richard admires him for that, but at the same time resents him for it because he's become the most stable person for Till to hold onto. Of course Till still shoves him around onstage and makes no secret of it, but he also does things like leaning gently into Flake's shoulder mere minutes later and spends time with the keyboardist quite often when not performing. Richard really hasn't been very happy with the man lately because Till's been spending disproportionate amounts of time with him. Of course that's just what it _looks_ like, he knows that the keyboardist never was to blame for any of it, but then Richard hasn't ever been particularly logical whenever Till is concerned.

At least he can fully establish that. But merely thinking that he has a problem usually doesn't do much to _solve_ said problem, and this time really isn't that much different. He has no idea how to go about solving it, either, and (much to his chagrin) doesn't for a very long time.

\-----

"I don't think being alone for so long is good for you," Paul says, swinging his legs over the sofa and looking around Richard's living room. The younger man is inclined to agree, but doesn't respond as he pours them both a glass of gin and tonic. "you're always so far away from us and this place always feels... empty. Is Khira Li at school?"

"She is," Richard says as he scrutinizes the two glasses. "but she'll be staying with her mother tonight. Did you say you wanted yours without ice?"

"A gin and tonic is always served on the rocks, Risch!" Paul laughs good-heartedly. "what you've got there looks perfectly good to me. You do provide very good service whenever we're over - Doom doesn't offer more than a beer and even then he always gives it to you unopened, the cheeky bastard-"

The younger guitarist laughs with him as he carries over the glasses and hands one to Paul, getting a wink and a charming ' _danke schön_ ' in response. He really quite likes spending time with Paul - they are the two main guitarists of the band, after all, and they need to be in tune with one another more than anyone else, even Till. Being with the older guitarist frees him from the conflicting feelings of frustration and affection whenever he's with Till, and he's so much fun to be around that it almost makes Richard forget that they're going through difficult times. He also admires Paul's ability to actually discern band life from personal life - it was he who proposed a hiatus this time, simply putting down his guitar one day and announced that he was exhausted, they all were, and that they really needed to take a break otherwise they would end up 'tearing each other's throats out before producing even one more song', and that he could think of at least three people in the band who would 'prefer their larynxes intact'. An unusually serious move from a man who almost appears to be childlike at times, but again, a sensible suggestion. They're about two months into their collective hiatus, and the older man has simply dropped in for a couple of hours; he's travelling with his family, and happened to be in New York at the same time. Olli and Schneider are set to come over in two weeks' time, all of which makes Richard quite happy.

"How's life treating you?"

Paul sips at his gin and tonic, looking sobered at the question. "All I can say is that taking a break has been the best thing to do. I'd almost forgotten how good it was to be able to spend an entire week and half's worth of Christmas with family without thinking about anything else. I think everyone loves me better for it, too. My girlfriend-" he abruptly breaks off, taking another sip of the drink and giving Richard a slightly abashed glance. "-sorry, that was insensitive of me-"

"I did ask," the younger man waves off the apology, although secretly he appreciates Paul for his tactfulness. "so things are going okay for you?"

"It could be better, but it could be much worse. It's getting better day by day, that's what matters. And you? How're you doing?"

Shrug. "Looking after my daughter and writing, mostly. Not much to do with songs, but just things that I feel from day to day. I'm really getting to spoil Khira Li, but I'm away so often that I figured that I should make the best of it. And-" Richard takes a deep breath, setting his glass down and leaning back on the sofa. "-I got the mail two days ago. The divorce between me and Caron is finalized now for good. No more waiting."

An awkward silence falls between them, and Richard is briefly unsure as to whether he should have even brought the topic up. But he and Paul are nothing if they can't share things like this with one another; the older man shifts over and drapes an arm around his shoulders, and this time it's not awkward at all. "I won't say that I completely understand your pain, Risch, saying that would be tactless beyond belief. I know most of us have been through one - hell, I have too - but every divorce is different, and you had it bad. But I sympathize. I really do."

"Thank you," Richard says quietly, giving Paul's hand a grateful squeeze. They smile at each other, and it feels as if the final load related to his relationship with Caron has been lifted away from his heart. It's odd how it had to be Paul out of all people who helped out, but really, he couldn't have asked for better. "I've got to move on."

"You do," the older guitarist nods in agreement, downing the last of his gin and tonic and putting it down before moving gently away from Richard. He looks around the living room again. "as I was saying... well, it's quite empty with only you around. I take it that you're not interested in a relationship right now, so soon after..." Richard shakes his head. "... just as I thought. I'm not surprised. Still, it might be good for you to have people around the place. People can't live alone for too long, it drives them crazy. Nobody on your mind at the moment?"

 _Till_ , Richard almost says out loud in immediate response, and it is only with considerable restraint that he stops himself from doing so. He shakes his head, hoping that the mortified blush on his face isn't going to give him away. Thankfully the older guitarist takes this as a suitable response and simply nods in understanding. "It's nice to be able to relax," he says. "speaking of which, do you practice your guitar while travelling?"

"I haven't played in a couple of weeks. Family would murder me if I carried around an amp and guitar everywhere," Paul laughs, seemingly very relieved at the change in topic to more familiar things. He leans back, clutching a cushion and sinking into the soft fabric. "everywhere we go there are facilities to rent some, although they can't compare to my guitars. I try to keep up whenever I can. And you?"

"Yeah. I sometimes write music and practice solos for them, too. Just for fun. Not sure if I'll ever make anything of it," Richard suddenly smiles. "well, Paul, we _are_ the two main guitarists of Rammstein and neither of us have really practiced for a while - I've got dozens of guitars, they aren't going to play themselves. Want to have a session before you go? I mean, if your family is waiting for you to come back as soon as possible, I'd hesitate to-"

"Hesitate, schmesitate! Let's go play some guitars!"

No other prompts are needed. Within minutes they've fetched two large amps and two acoustic guitars from the guitar room, deciding to go sit back down in the living room sofa, the noise be damned. Paul takes a little while to pick out the one best for him and dutifully admires its condition ('Risch, do you use chamois leather to polish those?'). They tune their respective guitars in a sort of excited silence and play some shared riffs before looking back at each other. "Well? What song? One of ours, presumably?"

"'Los'," Paul says without a second of hesitation. "one of my favorite series of puns from Till, our eternal maestro. We'll sing it together."

Richard has always thought of 'Los' as a disguised feel-good song for them. It's one of the few that's fairly mellow by their standards, but at the same time 'Los' is also an affirmation of their shared responsibilities within the band. It's quite a good thing to sing at this difficult point in time, really. The six of them will always be part of the same band. Richard leads in with the intro first, drawing out the syllables like Till does and hoping he's doing a good job of it.

" _Wir war-en namen-los, und oh-ne Lie-der-_ "

" _Recht wort-los_ ," Paul joins in. " _war-en wir nie wie-der-_ "

It's strange singing it without anybody else. It's even stranger to sing it without Till's bass-baritone to lead them, but nevertheless it's a very interesting experience. Because there is less pressure to make his part fit with those of five others, Richard can actually experiment with slightly more elaborate solos during the instrumental sections, which Paul acknowledges with an approving nod in his direction. Their voices are rather lighter than Till's, but it works out. Even without Till's voice, Richard and Paul harmonize through the entire song quite well, which honestly comes off as slightly surprising to the younger man - they don't really get many opportunities to sing through an entire song by themselves, as they add mostly to the choruses.

The band are divided between _feeling_ and _interpreting_ the music (Till is an exception as he needs to blend the two equally into his vocals, and as he does not carry an instrument he is more physically able to act things out) - Richard and Flake are mostly interpreters, throwing their own unique additions to the main melody. For them, memorizing the music and lyrics are the main priority so that they can adjust their melody to what they feel fits the mood best. Paul, Olli and Schneider on the other hand need to _feel_ the music deep within them - their parts consist of repeated patterns and beats, and having a good sense of timing and rhythm is of utmost importance to them. Paul is very good at what he does; as they play Richard steals glances at him, almost lying on the sofa, eyes closed and his entire body moving to the rhythm of the song. He plays almost as if the music is making love to him, as odd as that sounds. Once he opens his eyes to comment on Till's harmonica and how he wishes that the singer was actually there with them - Richard agrees inwardly, but doesn't say anything - but apart from that he simply sings along.

" _Wie waren los..._ " he finishes off in a near-sultry whisper as they fade out, and opens his eyes to give Richard a wink, sending a message that the younger guitarist understands almost instantly. Paul jumps up from the sofa as they suddenly burst into a loud repeat of the final part of the song, punctuating each beat with enthusiastic headbanging and laughing fit to burst. They're making a real racket now, for sure, if they weren't before, but neither can bring themselves to care that much.

"Oh, my Lord," Paul gasps after it's over, setting the guitar aside and sinking onto the floor, half in hysterics. " _Gott_. That felt... that felt really good."

"Tell me about it," Richard answers, also short of breath from laughing so much. He sits down next to Paul, a grin on his face, having forgotten about his troubles for the time being; that is one of Paul's charms, one he is grateful for. "we needed that, didn't we?"

"Sure we did. I liked your solos especially. You never do those in concert," the older guitarist quietens down a little and gives Richard an inquisitive stare. "I've got to go in a little bit, but could I hear some of those again?"

Richard obliges; Paul's been such a good sport that he owes him that much, at least. He picks up the acoustic guitar and strums it, improvising a series of arpeggios before moving onto an approximation of the first solo he played. The older man's watching him, but he doesn't feel nervous about it; if Till had been watching, for example, Richard would have had butterflies in his stomach the entire time out of a pressing need to impress the singer. But there's no particular need to satisfy anything with Paul, there's just him playing something and the other man watching, and that's good enough. Paul requests an improvised solo, and he nods in response, losing himself in the melody and unaware that it's making him smile.

"Bravo!" Paul claps when he's finished, cheering him on. "always our trusty lead guitarist, you are! We need to give you more time on your solos. Honing your skills while we're on a hiatus, I assume?" he lets out a small 'hmm' before his blue eyes gain that knowing sparkle that he always gets when he comes up with an idea. "how about writing and actually producing a few songs while you're at it? It does sound like you've well on your way there, from what you've told me. No pressure."

"I guess so. I could start a project... it does get boring doing absolutely nothing. And I... I think I need an outlet for my music somehow. Something to keep me relaxed."

"As long as it helps you," Paul says in an encouraging tone before he gets a call from his family and bids him farewell. Richard spends the rest of the day in a considerably more lightened mood.

It started off as just that little offhanded comment he made to Paul, but as the days pass by, he finds himself clinging onto the thought of having a side project. He would lead it, produce some solo works with the lyrics and music that he's written without initial direction - something that he can do during their year of hiatus, for sure, and should there be any more breaks from Rammstein, he can always return to the project and be as creative as he wishes. It would certainly save him a lot of soul-searching during those times, along with the assurance that he has something to go back to. He even comes up with a name for it - _Emigrate_. An apt description of his situation, physically from Berlin to New York and serving to show its distinction from the rest of the band. When Olli and Schneider come over two weeks from Paul's visit, he pitches the idea to them, plays a few demonstrations and asks them what they think of it.

"Somewhere to put your miscellaneous input, hmm? I'd say this can work," Olli comments approvingly. "it's a sensible idea from your part."

" _Das ist mein Teil_ ," Schneider quips dryly (but with a smile), drawing a genuine laugh from both Olli and Richard, before his expression turns serious. "but you do realize that this will need explaining to the others, right? And you've considered the possibility that it might cause problems in the future? I mean, one of us might completely disagree with you, I wouldn't be surprised if this fuels Flake's constant conviction that the band is going to break up messily one day. Even if we were all fine with it, which I'm very much hoping is the case, will our fans respond well to it?"

Richard rubs his chin and nods slowly, taking all of those questions into account. "I understand what you mean, Doom. I've thought about this a lot in the past couple of weeks, I'm not about to charge straight into it, but I'm hoping to get it running. Emigrate isn't something that's really serious, certainly no competition to Rammstein - hell, I don't even really know at the moment whether I'll actually go through with it."

"Once you start, though," Olli adds in a cautious tone of voice. "be sure to be able to wrap it up properly, whenever that might be - a year or ten from now, it doesn't matter. You can't start a band and abandon it halfway. Before we got to recording our first album, you remember that we decided that should we all decide to part ways, we should break up as cleanly and on as best terms as possible. You seem quite set on what portion of your time you want to devote to Emigrate, so it's only fair that you keep to it and find people who are happy to work under your leadership under the same limitations."

It's more positive reception than Richard ever expected. He suspects that Olli and Schneider are worried about his well-being and approved of Emigrate mostly because it's going to keep him stable and somewhat occupied and happy. They can always do with one more member of the band being satisfied with their life during this rough period, and after Richard's divorce, he really could do with some cheering up. Richard knows that it'll be hard work, but even the thought of being able to manage another band, free of pressure and the fame attached to Rammstein's label, is making him feel considerably better.

Of course he's perfectly aware of how it might come across, especially after years of all six of them passionately declaring their allegiance to each other and stating that Rammstein would break up if one of them ever left. Some of his fans will like his output for Emigrate, others won't and start fussing about the future of Rammstein. But for once in his life he doesn't care about what those fans might think - Richard rationalizes that it should be partway acceptable to the band because he's not leaving and the two projects can work alongside each other. If Emigrate fails, so be it - it's an experimental side project, certainly lower down in the priority list. That is the _point_. He's always made it fiercely clear that the latter was, is and always will be his life - surely he can catch a break. What comes as a surprise, not just to him but to the other members of the band, is how this angers _Till_ out of all people. Richard finds this out in one of the most unsavory ways possible halfway through their hiatus.


	4. 'I would take your doubts and show you what I should'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: I do not know any of the members of Rammstein; this is strictly a work of fiction that does not intend to profit nor present its portrayal of the band's lives as fact.**
> 
> Okay, here's the fourth chapter as promised in a simultaneous update! More soul-searching, but at the same time, more action and focus. The fight was nearly hell to write, bleh, but it ended up worth it. I hope.
> 
> Also it's like nearly half past four in the morning and I am exhausted. x_x On with the chapter!
> 
> EDIT: 08/Feb/2012 - For some reason this chapter was double spaced throughout and had wide gaps. It was really bothering me so I went and fixed it.

** Silence (Chapter 4) ** \- _'I would take your doubts and show you what I should'_  
  
\-----------  
  
"-All right, my princess. Sleep well, and daddy's going to call again soon, okay? _Gute Nacht_."  
  
Richard blows a kiss into the phone and disconnects the call, feeling considerably uplifted. It's something ridiculous like four in the morning in Berlin, but he's not tired at all. He lights up a cigarette as he walks to the car, stopping in front of it as he inhales and exhales the smoke; without smoking the rest, he then takes the cigarette out of his mouth and bends down to crush it out on the sidewalk, tossing it into a nearby bin before opening the driver's seat and getting inside.   
  
A get-together with all the members of the band for the first time in about six months. Richard's very much looking forward to it, especially because he hasn't really seen anyone except for Paul in a while. They'll be spending three days together in Flake's house, just catching up on things. The guitarist also has plans for Emigrate that he wants to showcase to the rest of the band - he's actually gotten some people together and have recorded a few songs, although not enough to make an album. He's thinking of releasing those tracks to Rammstein fans who have subscriptions to their newsletter, thus tying the two bands together in a loose sense. This will also ensure that Rammstein fans will get the first chance to listen to Emigrate, and at this early stage, he could really do with observing fan reaction towards this arrangement. Getting constructive criticism from members of the band is one thing, and getting it from the fans is a different matter altogether. Richard values their judgment greatly and hopes that what he's doing will be sufficient to reassure them of this. It's ten past four in the morning when he pulls up in front of Flake's house, and with a grin he leaves the car quickly and runs towards Olli who's waiting for him outside the door.  
  
"There you are!" he exclaims as he grasps Richard in a tight hug, almost lifting the guitarist off his feet. He laughs and returns the hug, suddenly aware of how much he's missed seeing the bassist around. "it's lovely to see you again. Come inside! You must be freezing."  
  
Richard nods and they both enter the house, taking their shoes off and placing them aside before entering the living room. Flake is sitting there with a bottle of beer in hand; he stands up and smiles at the guitarist. "Risch! I'm glad to see you've made it. Very early, isn't it?"  
  
"Tell me about it! But I wouldn't have missed it for the world," he embraces Flake briefly as well. "how have you all been?"  
  
"Waiting up for our lead guitarist to join the party is how we've all been!" Paul's voice calls from the kitchen along with a shouted 'Hallo, Risch!' from Schneider's part. Grinning, Richard opens his arms as the two of them run into the room and give him a hug that _does_ actually lift him off his feet. "it's good to see you!"  
  
"And good to see you too! I can't believe you all stayed up so late - let me down, Doom! Whew, thanks - I'm sorry I was so late, and at this most inconvenient time..." the guitarist sits back down on the coach before noticing that something is a little off. "say, where's Till?"  
  
It can't have been more than two seconds, but it's the first moment during his entire visit where Richard senses that not all is right within the band. At the mention of Till, the laughter and the cheerful atmosphere in the room suddenly plummets - Flake's expression falters a little, most noticeably, along with Olli falling silent. The guitarist blinks, a little bewildered. It's Schneider who doesn't miss a beat and gives him an answer: "Till's upstairs. He's sleeping, I think - he went to bed around midnight. Should I bring him down?"  
  
"Oh no, if he's sleeping I wouldn't want to-"  
  
"I'll get him to call down at least," the drummer dismisses the notion with a casual wave of the hand before walking out of the door. "he's been very - tired recently..."  
  
"That can't be good," Richard gets up with the intention of following the drummer upstairs, thinking that he could probably save his friend the effort of having to walk up and down the stairs for less than a few seconds' worth of greetings. But he doesn't manage to take even one step as Paul reaches out and grabs him by his shoulder, making him turn around.  
  
"Would you like a beer?" Paul asks, smiling and his tone carefree as always. But even though Richard nods and says 'of course, I'd love one' in response, he doesn't let go of the younger guitarist's shoulder. The other's grip is unexpectedly strong, and although he might be imagining things, the guitarist thinks that there was a flash of panic in Paul's eyes just for a moment. "Olli, fetch us a bottle, will you?"  
  
Olli complies, but they're all now awkwardly silent as they listen to the sound of Schneider walking up the steps and quietly knocking on Till's door. "Till, Risch is here. He's just downstairs - do come and call out an hello, at least." Schneider pauses there; if there's any reply, it's far too quiet to be heard. "Christ, you look like hell. You're not up to coming, then?" another pause. "I can't understand what you're trying to tell me."  
  
At this, Flake rises and wordlessly leaves the room, leaving Olli, Richard and Paul to gaze anxiously at each other. There's some more muffled discussions taking place, but before they can try to listen in there is the sound of a door shutting above them; Flake and Schneider re-enter the living room with worried looks on their faces and the latter nervously brushing his hair back.  
  
"Till's not in top form at the moment. I think we should wait. I'm sorry about that."  
  
"Is he drunk? Hungover?"  
  
Schneider shakes his head, frowning. "No. I really wish he'd _actually_ go and get drunk, just get it out of his system for good. But no, he hasn't touched a drop of alcohol in ages, he's just... always like that now."  
  
"Looks like he won't be back in shape until afternoon rolls around, at least," Flake puts in with a grim nod. "I wouldn't advise that you go to see him yet."  
  
Richard nods, but he can't stop himself inwardly being suspicious. For some reason, Paul and Schneider in particular aren't meeting his eyes and nobody else seems to want to discuss anything about the singer. The conversation doesn't continue on for much longer, only about an hour at most, before Paul says that he is tired and that they ought to have a little bit of sleep - Richard is shown to his room. down the hall from the kitchen, as they all bid each other good night. Richard's first thought is that perhaps Till's depression is particularly bad at the moment, and annoying the older man in such a sensitive state is already a highly unadvisable endeavor as it is. So everyone is just keeping as wide a berth from him as possible. That makes sense.  
  
But what if they're _trying_ to keep Till away from him? That's another plausible explanation. Richard tosses and turns in his bed, recalling how Paul had stopped him when he had tried to follow Schneider upstairs. That was an uncharacteristic moment if nothing else was.   
  
They're hiding something. He's very unsettled at the thought - why would they need to do such a thing in the first place?   
  
He's tired, but at the same time far too nervous to sleep. A shame, because the bed is very soft and warm and inviting; Richard nevertheless throws off the blankets and looks at the alarm-clock to see that it reads half past six in the morning. Still far too early. Groaning, he lies back down and closes his eyes.  
  
Well, he'll go and find out soon enough. Only a few more hours to go. Slightly consoled by that thought, Richard falls into a light sleep for a short while.  
  
\-----  
  
It's half past ten in the morning when Richard wakes up and immediately heads for the bathroom, cleaning himself up and getting dressed before venturing out into the other parts of the house. It's surprisingly quiet - there's a note pinned to the fridge, addressed to no one in particular, informing him that Paul and Schneider have left the house to take care of some things in town. They won't be back until after lunch. Olli's added to it by saying that he's going to walk over to the gym, but will be back before the two. Nice to know, the guitarist thinks as he looks around - Flake's nowhere to be seen, but he could also be out of the house. That would leave him and Till alone. Richard leaves the kitchen and walks up the stairs, unaware of what's waiting for him behind Till's doors.  
  
There are three bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs, and two of the bedrooms are empty, devoid of belongings that he can recognize as belonging to anybody else in the band. Only the singer must be occupying this space. Richard takes note of this and knocks a couple of times on the only door that's closed.  
  
"Till, it's me. Can I come in?"  
  
There's a sleepy mumble given as a response. Richard politely waits for a minute or so before trying out the handle - it opens smoothly as he walks in. It's not pitch black but nevertheless very dark compared to the other rooms, so he has to squint a little as he walks over to the bed. But the sight of Till lying on it is nothing like what he expected; the singer's hair is messily strewn on the pillows, his face oddly gaunt-looking and he looks as if he hasn't shaved in a couple of days. Till isn't known for being impeccably groomed, but this is different from his casual nonchalance - it genuinely looks as if he's given up caring. As he stares down at the man, Till stirs with a frown, opening both of his eyes.  
  
"... Risch?" Till's voice is slurred with sleep; his eyes have the somewhat-haggard look of someone recovering from a hangover about them. But he certainly doesn't have one - at least, Richard is thinking this based on his own experiences with hangovers, until the point where the singer near-leaps out of bed and lunges towards him, grabbing him by the collar.  
  
"Till, what - let me go!"  
  
"The hell I will," the older man shouts, sounding so completely sane yet so inebriated and _angry_ that the guitarist can't comprehend it. He shakes the younger man hard by his shoulders. "we saw you through while you were feeling sorry for yourself and this is how you treat all of us? You contemptuous, ungrateful little bastard. Well, I hope you're happy in Emigrate."  
  
 _Oh._  
  
"I can't believe you. Switching sides when we could all be getting back in form for another album! That's a new low if I've seen one-"  
  
 _That's why they tried to keep him from me._  
  
"-completely irresponsible, Lord only knows why nobody else has called you out on this-"  
  
 _Shit. What the hell do I do now?_  
  
Richard is vaguely aware that his shoulders are still being gripped, so tightly that he can almost feel Till's nails digging into the skin, and with all his strength pushes the older man away. "Well, how's you screaming at me going to change my opinion of things?" he shoots back defensively, clenching his fists - his words are coming out a lot harsher than intended, but his only concern at the moment is putting them both at an equal level. "or for that matter, I don't see you preparing any new material for Rammstein, either! This is a nice way to greet a friend who you haven't seen in months! I haven't even told you the full story behind this, have I? Did you think that I was going to abandon everyone - make a different name for myself and steal away the spotlight from you or something? If that's why you're so angry, then I'm afraid that you're wrong! Way to just go and _assume_ things, you arrogant bastard!"  
  
Till stares at him, his eyes wide and half insane and burning with an emotion that Richard can't recognize. "Just as I figured," he hisses, finally breaking his gaze and walking over to the window. He angrily throws open the curtains, enveloping the room in cold sunlight before leaning over, his hands tightening on the windowsill as he glares at the outside world. "nobody understands, not even you."  
  
It should sound childish. It sounds like something a sulking teenager, convinced that the world's turned against him, would say. But this isn't just a random youth going through a crying jag - this is _Till_ , the one who solves conflicts rather than starts them, the unchallenged leader of their band, and most of all Richard's closest friend. Being told that he doesn't understand anything is just as devastating a blow as a series of insults. "It's not an attack on your person. I'm not challenging your authority or your talent. I've had it hard over the past months, you know that... and what's wrong with having something like this as a hobby? It's better than... than moping about it in some corner."  
  
"And that excuses you from flaunting your input in a completely different band when we could do with more creativity? Really feeling the dedication there."  
  
"I chose Rammstein over _Caron_!"  
  
Till actually lets out a near crazed laugh at this; Richard steps back, having not expected such a reaction. "You and your messed-up priorities! The one thing you probably could have done with spending more time on than the band! What, am I meant to be _moved_ by your undying loyalty or something? After you've proposed moving ahead with Emigrate?" Richard tries to interrupt and is silenced by yet another glare from the singer; but contrary to expectations, Till actually drops his gaze and goes to sit by his desk, staring defiantly at the wall. "… no, forget what I said about your dedication. You were loyal to death, Risch. Not like Flake who keeps threatening to leave whenever any little thing doesn't seem right to him. You started Rammstein, it was you who gathered us all together - we wouldn't be anything without you..."  
  
Whilst in the middle of his tirade, there's the sound of footsteps quickly coming up the stairs; Richard looks around to see Flake himself standing there, sending him into a fresh wave of panic. The keyboardist's wearing a loose white labcoat, which would make him look as if he's living up to his 'Doktor Lorenz' image if it weren't stained with many different shades of colour; he must have been working on another painting. He's twisting the lid back on a small tube of red acrylic paint, hastily shoving it in his pocket afterwards.   
  
"What on earth-?"  
  
But when he looks around the scene, with Till sitting by the desk and glaring ahead at the wall and Richard standing helplessly behind him, he seems to realize quickly that this is not something that he should yet be interfering in. Flake meets the guitarist's eyes for a second or two before taking a few steps back, standing in the doorway silently, watchful and at the same time sending the other a signal to disregard his presence.   
  
"-and now here you are, telling me that it's acceptable to for you to jump ship and go back and forth whenever it's convenient. When we're all down in the dumps, nonetheless. I'm a fool," the older man's shoulders slump down as he says this, seemingly in defeat. "so much for me expecting all this to _last_."  
  
"You're being unreasonable," Richard says, feeling slightly better at the added support of Flake. Till's reaction is to bury his head in his hands with a groan. "of course it will last! I'm here now, aren't I? Hell, this argument shouldn't even be happening in the first place when I'm right here, wanting to seek your approval before I go ahead. I care for Rammstein more than anything. Do you think I'd have come here to talk things over with you if I was just going to run off and do my own thing by the sidelines?"  
  
"Don't even pretend that you care, Risch," Till says thickly, and suddenly makes a sound disturbingly reminiscent of a choking sob. Despite what's happened, Richard becomes very distressed at this, all the anger and frustration melting away at that one sound. He steps forward cautiously towards the singer - he's prepared to say all sorts of things to make it better. For one second he even considers withdrawing the idea of Emigrate altogether, as irresponsible as that is; but he doesn't need to in the end as he lays a hand on Till's shoulder. Before he can so much as get out a 'please don't' or 'I'm sorry', Till spins around and roughly shoves away the other's hand from his body.  
  
"You _traitor_ ," he whispers, uttering that one forbidden word and at the same time destroying something between them. Richard can only gasp and stare in response; he can't think straight or attempt to deny it. As he stares into Till's eyes, which are dark with fury - but at the same time wide and filled with hurt - the sense of pain, guilt and utter loathing mingled in those two words burrow their way deep into Richard's heart, scalding and hurtful in their venom, so unbelievably cruel a burn that it fills his entire being with a sense of horror and betrayal. Till hadn't even flinched.  
  
"That's..." he stammers in a barely audible voice. "that's... _mein Gott_ , that's not true..."  
  
It is a blessing that Flake jumps in to intervene at this point. "Not in my house, you won't," he exclaims as he marches into the room, throwing his labcoat aside on the bed. Till blinks and moves back in a startled manner, having only just noticed Flake's presence there. "just because _your_ life is a mess doesn't mean that you have any rights to take it out on him, Till, and I have no qualms about having you removed from this place if you refuse to approach this like a mature human being."  
  
"Flake, please tell me that this isn't what everyone feels about me," he wouldn't have thought it, but he's just so desperate for an ally that Richard finds himself reaching for the keyboardist's hand and gripping it tight; he's surprised when Flake actually gives him one tight squeeze on the hand in return. "I haven't even had the chance to explain!"  
  
"I believe you," Flake responds quietly. "and no, it's indeed not. Be assured of that."  
  
Watching this, the singer suddenly slams a fist into the desk and leaps up from his chair. " _He is_!" he shouts, pointing an accusing finger at Richard (who winces again). "he _is_ a filthy traitor if I've seen one! I've thought of almost nothing else and nobody else but him in the past week, and forgive me if I can't be as completely level-headed as you about this matter, but as the frontman of Rammstein I genuinely can't get over what he's proposing!"  
  
" _Dietrich_ ," Flake says in a tone of warning, but it goes unnoticed by Till in his frenzy.  
  
"You're ruining our balance. Goddamned bandwrecker. Self-concerned doesn't even begin to cover what you're like," Till keeps shouting. In blind anger he swipes a hand across the table, sweeping off his notebooks and the desk lamp with a horrible crashing sound, before cursing out loud and hastily picking them back up again to check for any damage. "goddamn it! The bulb in that got replaced only a week ago."  
  
"You brought it on yourself," the keyboardist shoots back, thankfully before Richard can protest, snatching the lamp out of the other's hands and rearranging the items back on the desk. "I know you're upset with him, but if you think you're going to feel better by destroying random objects, you've got another think coming."  
  
Till folds his arms, glaring at Flake; the latter gazes back unflinchingly. "Damn right that I'm upset with him! What I don't understand is why none of you are!"   
  
"Till-" Richard whispers, taking a step towards the singer in spite of his anguish. Till is slipping away from him, further and further with each hurtful insult he's hurling in the younger man's direction, and he just can't let that happen. "please... hear me out."  
  
Flake turns to Till before the older man can respond, seeking to end the situation before either of them get more hurt. "Look, if I promise to keep this quiet from the rest of the band, will you leave this room? I want to talk to Risch."  
  
"I'm not done with him yet," the singer snarls. "don't you understand that-"  
  
" _I'll understand better if he and I talk_. I don't want anyone else around. Now _leave_."  
  
For a moment or two Till looks suitably shocked, and while Richard wouldn't admit it for anything he is also; Flake isn't particularly a passive person, but he has been never been so confrontational towards the singer before. It's not long before his expression reverts back to a scowl, although most of the fight seems to have gone out of him at that point. "All right," he says quietly, sounding strained but otherwise sincere. "I understand - I'll leave you be. And I'm sorry for this, I really am. To both of you. We'll discuss this when... when I'm calmer."  
  
"Thank you," Flake says in an equally quiet tone before Richard can say anything. "now, if you won't mind." Till nods in response, and without looking back he strides across the room and leaves; the door then swings shut, leaving Flake and Richard alone. Almost immediately afterwards the keyboardist's frown falters into a nigh-defeated look and he sinks down onto the bed.   
  
"It's far too early in the day for me to deal with this," he says as if this completely explains his forcefulness. (It doesn't, but it's the only explanation he's ever going to give.)  
  
"Thanks," the guitarist mutters reluctantly, not knowing how exactly to respond to this. He's forgotten how cryptic Flake can be sometimes. "I owe you one,"   
  
Flake doesn't actually reply to this for what seems like a few minutes, making Richard fidget, but when he finally opens his mouth it ignites the fire of resentment yet again. "Forget owing me anything. When Till comes back, you have the responsibility to apologize to him."  
  
"What? What the hell do I owe him an apology for?" Richard clenches his fists. "he's the one who started it!"  
  
Flake sighs quietly. "I did warn you to not see him until afternoon, Risch. And I also told him before you came over to keep things calm and civilized, but looks like his pride was hurt too deep for him to take that advice. Till's too dignified towards himself, that's what he is. And I guess I'm similar to him. This is what happens when nobody listens to instructions."  
  
"He pretended to screw you onstage and you ran him over with a Segway. How the hell is any of that _dignified_. And I just wanted to talk to him, how could I have understood that I was meant to stay away when none of you would tell me why?"  
  
"Till feels threatened, can't you see that?" Flake says; Richard would snap back at him, but the keyboardist looks so miserable and exhausted about the whole thing that the retort just dies down before he can voice it. "I'm not taking _his_ side, I want to make that very clear, Risch - I understand where he's coming from, but I think the way Till's dealing with this is just as irrational as you think it is. Rest assured that Paul, Olli and Doom think exactly the same. We've discussed it amongst ourselves. This is your side project, no more different to what you're doing with this band, and quite frankly he has no business meddling in it."  
  
"Could have taken the words right out of my mouth," the guitarist says bitterly. "I didn't complain when he took up acting roles or branched out as a poet, did I? I thought for a while that he might switch careers altogether with the positive reception he received. I'm not even doing anything completely different to what I've done in the past years, and this is really just uncalled for!"  
  
Flake rubs his forehead with a sigh. "Ever thought about the possibility that that's precisely why he's so upset?"  
  
"What? How?"  
  
"Musician to poet or actor is more difficult than musician in band A to band B. It's that simple. There really isn't more to it. If you'd decided to devote some time to modeling or contributing to a photography club or something like that, I bet Till wouldn't have given it a second thought, no matter how much time it meant you would be spending outside of this band."  
  
Silence. Richard sinks down on the bed, feeling like he's suffocating. "I just... I don't... understand this. There's no reason for Till to feel so threatened! I might have put the band together in the first place, but it's mostly Till who's keeping it going. How can he think that I can just switch my allegiance like that? Rammstein is my life, Flake, anyone with half an eye should be able to see that! I can never be the kind of singer that he is, I can never write as well as he can, and that's a good thing. That's why I'm comfortable with Emigrate because it's less demanding and it makes me feel better," his voice suddenly rises to a near hysterical shout. " _so why the fuck can't he just let me feel better_. What the hell have I done wrong?"  
  
"Think of how we started out, Risch! Till didn't agree to join Rammstein for kicks, he agreed because there was genuine potential from the beginning. He knows that you're a good singer in your own right and a wonderful guitarist. He knows that you're capable of organizing a successful band because the proof is _right here_. I mean, think about Feeling B - First Arsch - and how we all made the transition from our previous bands to here. And Emigrate is a band that you will unquestionably be the leader of. Don't you see how that terrifies him, when he can see the possibility that you will become more successful there?"  
  
"You suddenly sound like you know how things were between me and Till better than I do," Richard spits out; he has the horrible feeling that Flake's hit the nail on the head, but he can't admit that and doesn't know how else to react. The keyboardist doesn't even flinch.  
  
"I don't and would never claim to. I only know how he must have felt because as far as I know, me and Paul went through the exact same thought process - the second half of the band to join, I might remind you. You don't credit yourself with half the amount of talent you actually have."  
  
"So what, that's the problem? Till thinks I'm too _talented_ to let loose into the world? That makes no sense at all!"  
  
"You doing something different isn't exactly why he's so bothered, Risch. You could have volunteered to have taken up guitars at an already-established band as a secondary thing for all it matters. Let's face it, what you are doing is going to be longer lasting than just being a guest artist for a single song or album - that's never perturbed him, you'd agree," Richard nods tensely, waiting for more. "he's not worried about any of that as much as the possibility that you will neglect or leave Rammstein _for good_."  
  
The pieces only fall together with the emphasis that Flake puts on those final two words. "For good?" Richard repeats weakly, feeling as if he's about to faint - of course he's considered that Till might be upset with him due to starting a different band, but he's never thought that the man might have taken it as an unofficial withdrawal from Rammstein. There simply seemed to be no sense in thinking that. But the keyboardist nods grimly back at him and suddenly he feels like the biggest jerk in the world.  
  
"You could do with knowing a little more now that we've come to this," Flake says. "Till's not been having a good couple of months. I see that he didn't tell you - well, he had a horrible breakup about two months back. I can't say it was worse than your divorce, it's not on the same level to begin with, but let's just say that he became violent and almost got arrested. Really messed with his mind, it did."  
  
Richard can't hold back. "Oh God."  
  
"You'd think he'd have shrugged it off, it's not his first time being threatened with prison or being violent or even breaking up, for that matter. But you know how he's been really quite depressed for the past months? And how he refuses to get help for it? All of those factors coming together really broke him up, I think. He's stayed with me for over a week now and only four days ago I walked into him throwing a fit because he was hit with a major case of writer's block and everything he wrote was making no sense at all. It was then when he really started resenting the idea of Emigrate, and he fell to it fast. In his point of view, he's the one left behind not being able to contribute anything and only being able to piss people off - while you're perfectly capable of coming up with new material. New things that you are keeping for your side project and not for this band."  
  
He shouldn't have jumped straight to accusing Till of being an arrogant bastard. Even though the older man's said much worse to him, Richard still curses himself out for not calming down and hearing the entire context first. He should have known; while the news of Till's breakdown is new to him, the man being depressed and worn out is something that he was perfectly aware of. He was like that even before they even went on their second hiatus. It doesn't excuse any of the hurtful things that the singer's hurled in his direction, but the things that the younger man unquestionably did do wrong are far clearer to him now. "I didn't even think that... oh _shit_ , don't tell me that everyone else thinks that I'm a heartless freak too?"  
  
"No, no," Flake shakes his head. "Till is truly not in his usual state of mind. Paul, Olli, Doom and I have discussed it and don't see any wrong with what you want to do. I can't say that you're clean in this matter - my opinion is that you ought to have informed and discussed things with him first instead of just leaving him to figure it out - but he's the one who's definitely done the most wrong here."  
  
There's nothing to say to that. They both fall completely silent for a few minutes, both of them lost in thoughts of their own.  
  
"I can't think of going through with Emigrate without Till's approval," Richard finally says in a hoarse voice.  
  
"You should consider it," Flake tells him quietly - he looks remorseful for having to say such a thing, which is more sympathy than Richard would have ever expected from him. "he may never approve. You know how ridiculously stubborn he can be. But it's your project and you have the final say in what becomes of it. I know Till means a lot to you, Risch... but you can't let him get in the way. It's not fair on you or anyone else involved."  
  
"But I'll lose him if I do. And I won't lose him. I _can't_."  
  
"Sing something from Emigrate," Flake responds without blinking an eye. Startled with the sudden turn of conversation, the younger man blinks and frowns in confusion.  
  
"... I beg your pardon?"  
  
"Sing something that you wrote for the band. A demo might work better, actually - I do realize that your vocals and a single guitar might not represent your sound properly. If you won't recognize your talents and Till won't give you a down-to-earth judgment, I will."  
  
Richard hesitates for a while, weighing his options; no obligations to accept, of course. He doesn't actually have any qualms about allowing Flake to hear his output, because the man's prized for his harsh but fair judgment as it is. It can be a valuable piece of criticism he can get right now if he agrees.   
  
"I don't know, I was... well..."  
  
But if he does that, it means that Till won't be the first in the band to hear some of his proper songs. That's really all it is. He was hoping that the singer would appreciate some of his songs, be able to grasp the message behind his lyrics, and it's only when Flake gives him an odd look that he is reminded of their argument not ten minutes ago. Richard sighs in defeat. "All right. I'll get the CD from my car."  
  
\-----  
  
He does so within five minutes and gives the CD to Flake, who takes it carefully and examines it. Without comment, he then walks downstairs with Richard following behind him and puts it in the CD player in the living room. "I'll, um, leave you to it, then."  
  
"Thank you," Flake says with a nod, and the guitarist shuts the door before collapsing on the floor, waiting for judgment.  
  
" _All I do is going nowhere... and I want to go back home..._ "  
  
He's not sure what he's expecting, really. Flake might scoff at him, Richard can just imagine it - 'you can't be serious, Risch, that is just so unbearably _American_ ' - but the keyboardist is nothing if not fair. It's not as if Flake hasn't done his fair share of singing in English either, so he wraps his arm around his knees and hopes for the best.  
  
" _Don't you know that you're so special?_ "  
  
'Temptation'. Richard thinks that it's one of the better things he's ever written in his life, but whether anybody else will agree is another matter. There are a couple more demo tracks recorded there, all of them shorter than what the full versions will be like; he's proud of what he's managed in such little time, but at the same time waiting for even one song to finish feels like agony tenfold.  
  
" _Don't you ever cloud your thoughts like falling rain?_ "  
  
He could do with a cup of coffee. The guitarist gets up and shakily makes his way to the kitchen, ignoring the sound of his own voice through the walls as he puts on the kettle and fills it full of water. He won't need it all, but it'll take longer to boil all of it and quite frankly he's happy with any excuse to not go back there for a few extra minutes. Environmental awareness can wait until another day. He slumps against the counter and gazes blankly at the kettle, wondering how on earth he's managed to get himself into such a mess.   
  
He also hopes that Flake will understand most of the content in his songs, but not too deeply, either - some of those songs were written when he had Till in mind. They might not be about the singer, but Richard is not extremely talented at hiding his feelings, and he's afraid that some of that might have bled out into his songs. He probably wouldn't mind if the older man himself picked those nuances up, but anyone else noticing it would be the embarrassment of his life.  
  
The kettle starts whistling. Richard makes two cups of coffee to be nice; Flake's helped him out big time that morning and it's the least that he can do. He quietly loads both mugs onto a tray and carries them out to the hallway, noting that the music's stopped completely before pushing open the living room door and coming face to face with the keyboardist.   
  
"Have one."  
  
Flake nods and takes a mug before standing up to go. He moves past Richard wordlessly, without giving him the CD back nor giving away anything via his expressions - back to the cryptic and cynical Flake that they're all used to. "Well? What did you think of it?" Richard calls to him anxiously. "they aren't polished, but... were they okay nonetheless?"  
  
Flake pauses, and turns around to give him one lingering, surprisingly sad smile.  
  
"I don't think we ever fully appreciated how much of a wonderful vocalist you can be, Risch," he says, and without another word walks out of the room, leaving Richard feeling as if his heart's being torn into shreds. Somehow Flake's full, passive acceptance is just as devastating as Till's anger. He closes his eyes and sits down on the floor, holding his head in both hands; he doesn't cry, but nevertheless there is the sense of something having broken between him and the rest of the band, and it almost physically hurts to feel it. Then it also dawns on him that it took only a few sentences from Flake's part to get Till to listen to him, with a somewhat sincere apology from the man to boot - what Richard completely and utterly failed to manage with over fifteen years of solid friendship and an entire argument on hand. A slap in the face of moral support.  
  
It's as if the past months of recovering from his separation and divorce - and subsequently, Till's care for him during this time - meant absolutely nothing. And Richard is hurt by this, more than he ever imagined that he would be, and frantically reaches for a cigarette to try to let himself forget. But he can't, no matter how much he tries, even as the smoke spirals up into the air and fills the room. Not this time.  
  
\-----  
  
Flake does indeed keep his promise, which is the sole comforting thing about the entire fiasco. Richard spends most of the day alone and musing to himself, the keyboardist quietly practicing on his piano in a different room. For all the negative emotions that he sometimes feels towards Flake, listening to him play a classical piece is a soothing and effective reminder as to how much he still respects and admires the other man, and why he wanted him to join the band so badly in the first place. Nothing like the effect that Till has on him, of course, but considering that the singer is furious at him, it'll have to do. Olli comes back from the gym around two o'clock and greets them both cheerfully, fixing them all a simple lunch, which lightens the atmosphere considerably. Flake keeps quiet about the incident with Till, and the guitarist is grateful because quite frankly nobody else needs to be exposed to all this misunderstanding and hurt. But even the keyboardist starts looking a little restless when it begins to get dark outside without even a call from Till, Paul or Schneider.   
  
"Are you sure that you haven't heard from Till, Olli?"  
  
"Positive," the bassist says, frowning and checking his phone for any missed calls or messages. There are none. "I didn't run into any of them, either. I thought Till was with Paul and Doom? Or is he taking care of some different business altogether?"  
  
Flake glances quickly at Richard, who gives him a barely perceptible nod. "He left the house quite a while after they did. Doubt it was anything related."   
  
"Do you think they might ha-" Olli is cut off from responding when the door crashes open. "- _lieber Gott_!"  
  
Standing in the doorway are Paul and Schneider, both very disheveled; the former is even shivering from the lack of a proper coat. That alone is surprising enough, but nothing can prepare them for the sight of a barely-conscious Till half-draped around their shoulders. "Help us out, will you?" Schneider manages to utter, breaking the stunned and horrified silence that has settled over all of them. Olli hurriedly moves forwards, but it is Richard who pushes past him and gets to Till first.  
  
"What the hell happened to him?" he demands, taking Paul's place and ushering them inside. The coat that the older guitarist put around Till's shoulders falls off, and the man retrieves it with a small groan, rubbing his shoulders. "no, screw that. Where did you _find_ him in the first place?"  
  
"We didn't find him," Paul responds in an exhausted voice. "he found us. We were in a bar downtown for lunch when he came in, we sat together. He looked, uh, okay, I guess. We left around half two and said goodbye to him. We dropped back in later and he was still there, slouched over the bar - thanks, Risch - and that's when we decided to take him back with us. He didn't even protest. Wouldn't even talk to us at all the second time around."  
  
"Tell me about it," Schneider adds grimly. "I know I said that I'd rather Till get drunk and get it all out of his system, but I really didn't count on this happening. Talk of the devil."  
  
"Did he say why he was there the first time you ran across him?" Richard asks, and narrows his eyes when Paul and Schneider both shake their heads. They're not looking at each other nor at the younger guitarist, and their reactions are just delayed enough to be obvious. _They're hiding something from me again_ , he thinks, and this just adds to the pain.   
  
Flake appears to have noticed the same thing, and although he doesn't pursue it, he crosses his arms and glares at the two severely. "That's all fine and well, but can't either of you have called at any point? It was fairly nearby, we could have come and helped if you'd just told us."  
  
"Oh, sure," Schneider snaps back, uncharacteristically irritated. "it's not as if we were too concerned with getting him back here before he developed full-on _alcohol poisoning_ or anything, distance be damned-"  
  
Richard's had enough of arguments. He needs to get Till to lie down somewhere; he's certainly not about to attempt going upstairs with him in tow, especially when the singer is nearly comatose and barely responds beyond a few twitches to any kind of stimulation. But he catches Olli's eyes and the bassist nods in understanding, and they quietly (and slowly) walk towards the hallway, leaving the others to argue by themselves. "We'll take him to my room," he says, inviting no objections, and thankfully Olli nods again in agreement. After a couple of minutes of shuffling down the hallway and into the room, they finally manage to roll Till onto the bed. The guitarist steps back and stretches, wincing as he hears his back creak - how Till manages to carry his own bulk, he has no idea, when two fairly strong men struggle to do it. But then, there is a considerable difference in height between him, Olli and Till, which couldn't have made it much easier.  
  
"He _is_ just drunk, right? He hasn't been doing any other drugs?"  
  
"I don't think he's high or drugged up," Olli replies as he carefully shifts Till to assume the recovery position. The singer grunts almost inaudibly and for a moment frowns as if he's about to wake up, but ultimately doesn't. "but drunk as hell for sure. I think this might be the worst he's ever gotten," he gently pries an eyelid open. "no, his eyes aren't watery or bloodshot or anything, and he's breathing normally. It'd be easier to see if he were awake. I can't see much, but I think he is all right. Just... completely wasted."  
  
Richard lets out a breath that he hasn't noticed that he was holding. "Thank God for that. It could be better, sure, he could actually be _conscious_ for one thing-"  
  
"-but he can be so much worse," the bassist finishes for him. He sighs heavily, rubs his forehead and steps back as well; for a moment they just stand together, helplessly gazing down at Till. Drunkenness is the most common ailment suffered by all six of them, and they can all get quite bad about it, but that's when they're being social. This is beyond just drowning one's sorrows. "he's not going to be back in action until tomorrow, is he?"  
  
"Let him to recover. It's the only thing we can do."  
  
Olli bites his lip lightly. "I suppose. I might as well make some dinner for us while we're at it and stop the other lot arguing. Are you coming?"  
  
Richard doesn't even need to consider the answer. "I'm not hungry," he says quietly and sits down next to Till. "you go, Olli. I'll stay and watch over him."  
  
It doesn't register to him for a while that Olli is giving him a long, searching look. The bassist gazes at him with an emotion that he can't quite decipher, but then he nods wordlessly and slips out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Any other time and Richard might have taken this as another indicator as how strange everyone is acting around him, but Till's his priority for the moment so he pays attention to him instead. Till's breathing is barely audible, but it's normal, as Richard can see that his chest is rising and falling at regular intervals. He slides his arms around the other's torso and lifts his upper body up - a considerable feat - to slide the jacket off him, and drapes the garment around the back of a chair. He also takes the time to carefully unlace Till's boots and put them aside and readjusts his limbs back to the recovery position before sitting back.   
  
"Till."  
  
No response. Richard can't say that he's surprised, although it doesn't stop him trying again.  
  
"Wake up," a shake of the shoulders. "I swear to God. _Lindemann_ ," he gives the singer a hard shove, suddenly furious. "snap out of it already! Stupid bugger. This is all your fault!"  
  
It works about as exactly as Richard thought it would, which is not at all. He's raised his hand to attempt a slap around Till's face, but he can't help but drop it when he sees that he's achieved nothing. The flash of anger disappears as quickly as it came, along with the realization of how utterly pointless it is to push around and curse out a man who's dead to the world. The guitarist sighs heavily and shifts positions so that he's leaning against the headboard and sitting on the mattress, looking down at Till's unmoving form. He silently gazes ahead for a while, his mind having gone pretty much blank.  
  
Till's touched him many times before, let his hands brush over the other's shoulders or arms when performing. They've hugged too, although not so much in the past few years out of respect for Richard's now-ex-marriage. But it's nearly always been the singer who initiated any kind of physical contact first - except for this time. He's never really touched the singer of his own volition, although he's wanted to for a long time - his interest piqued, Richard carefully slides down next to Till and peers at the other's form closely. He raises a hand, hesitates - and strokes Till's coarse hair, slightly damp with sweat and the condensation caused by the warmth in the room, feeling how surprisingly soft it is. Till is so deeply unconscious that he doesn't react to this at all; taking a gamble, Richard lets his hand wander down and lightly brush the nape of his neck. It's one of the few parts on the other's body that's never been burnt at all, and it shows from the taut smoothness of the skin. His fingers delve a little further downwards, just beneath the other's shirt collar, finding that Till's entire body is hot and a little slippery with a thin sheen of perspiration; he swallows hard at the feel of his skin, his throat suddenly feeling dry, a hot and not entirely uncomfortable sensation coiling up deep inside him. But he withdraws his hand respectfully, opting to not go any further.  
  
The younger man shifts closer so that they're face to face. He briefly winces at the smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol soaked into his clothes; but nevertheless he curls up slightly so that the side of his face is pressed against Till's chest. He closes his eyes, letting the sound of Till's heartbeat take him back to one evening that took place in far more honest times. The sound is as strong and rhythmic and soothing as ever, at least. Without really knowing that he's doing it, he reaches out and tightens one arm around the singer's waist, holding him close. It's a pity that Till can't respond to it, but it'll have to do. Richard snuggles deeper into the warmth, looking up at Till's face. The older man's eyes are fully closed, the lines across his forehead rather prominent in his expression (which is still softened with sleep), and the guitarist is suddenly gripped with a desire to reach up and hold the other's face in his hands. He'd stroke the other's hair and lie so their cheeks are brushing lightly together, and in an ideal world he would greet Till with a quiet ' _guten Morgen_ ' and a kiss on the forehead when the sun rose and the singer would gaze at him with his half-lidded eyes, glass-green and intense in the sunlight, and he would return the greeting with his rare sultry-innocent smile...  
  
Richard briefly contemplates just falling asleep there, curled up with the singer as he once did over ten years ago. Strange bedfellows they were, for that one night, but it was one of the most significant nights of his life and certainly an unquestionably happy one. But he doesn't go through with it, settling for moving away, lying on the other side of the bed and quietly watching the man sleep. He can't afford to overstep his boundaries, and he's too fond of Till to actually put wistful thinking into action without any kind of consent. Besides, there's the possibility of Till being woken up - in their current terms, the best Richard can hope for if caught is the singer pulling roughly away from him with a 'fuck off' or some variant thereof. At worst there could well be violence. He might be sluggish from the drink, but Till's an unpredictable man and is still probably capable of injuring Richard grievously.   
  
_Huh_ , Richard thinks, now a bit put off by that chain of thought. _maybe not. I should go and... do something else. Me being here isn't helping._  
  
He turns over and picks up the little travel alarm clock he's brought with him, reading the display. Half past six in the evening - not that bad. He guesses that Till is going to be out cold for a long time and that none of the other bandmates are really up to doing anything that night. Richard lies there for a few more minutes, weighing his options, before slowly getting up and grabbing a towel before leaving the room; he could do with a hot shower. He makes sure to close the door behind him as to not disturb Till.   
  
Flake has two main bathrooms in his house and a couple of ensuites scattered around. All of them are always kept meticulously clean - Richard chooses the one opposite his room and goes in, switching the light on and immediately heading for the shower stall. He lets out a little 'hmm' as he steps inside with one foot and peers at the shower tap; he's probably been in hundreds of different showers already, but figuring out how to turn on an unfamiliar one is always daunting. Luckily, this one doesn't need to be fiddled with that much. He lets the shower warm up as he takes off his clothes, folds them in a pile and stashes them away in a corner of the bathroom; before walking back, he makes sure to observe himself in the mirror. Looking fairly well for a man who's forty in a few months and is currently worried out of his mind. Richard looks away from his reflection and steps into the shower, sighing blissfully at the water raining like bullets upon his skin. Letting the water soak through his hair, he picks up a bottle of shampoo and gazes blankly at the label - but in reality, he's far away in his own thoughts and wondering what's so special about the older man anyway. Beneath Till's voice and philosophical outlook in life lies an otherwise normal human being; he can be very irrational, breaks things for no reason, and still gets himself into things that he has no full control over. He still finds pleasure in the most childish things, even if it's not entirely benign, and he's not free of vices either. Till really isn't perfect by a large margin. But as the guitarist massages the shampoo into his hair, he considers that everything would be so much worse off if Till were truly perfect. Then he'd have very little to offer in terms of equal standing.  
  
When did all this madness all begin, anyway?  
  
Technically it started a long time before Rammstein, arguably even before First Arsch, when Nele had been very little. Richard can't say that there was an exact point where he started feeling that odd fondness towards the singer; there was no significant event that made him feel that Till might be good to pursue. It was a slow development and he's never thought much about how it happened, and really, there still isn't much sense in trying to pinpoint an exact event. It just happened, and by late 1993 he'd been having images of Till embracing him - and even then he'd managed it without feeling any particular _need_ for intimacy. Those have only become evident since his divorce. His feelings towards the older man back then were more chaste, a mixture of respect, gratitude and a sense of wonder. Discovering the other's vocal talents probably gave him that little nudge from the friendship territory to genuinely developing such a fascination.  
  
Richard rinses the shampoo out of his hair and lathers some shower gel onto his body. As he runs it over his biceps he thinks of Till's truly incredible muscles - one of his many physical characteristics that impressed the younger man back then and still does. Then there are his eyes, clear and lovely as ever, and his lips that Richard still maintains are the most _perfect_ shape. Till's personality has changed over time, and not always in the best ways - the development of his stubbornness and the tendency to snap at the most minor things come to mind - but the things that made him so irrevocably Till, such as his calm, stoic demeanor, the beauty of his voice and his surprising modesty, are still very much there. When they were first introduced, they had been somewhat quiet and reserved towards each other, saying little beyond the usual greetings and the barest minimum of questions while they slowly got used to each other's presence. The singer had been quiet even after they had become better acquainted, but always polite and attentive. Richard lets the water rinse his body free of lather, closing his eyes and thinking of that one day, a long, long time ago, when he had been sitting with Till in his living room and drinking some coffee. Richard had been reading a book, comfortable in their shared silence, when the older man had simply reached over and gently pushed his hands down, lowering the book to his lap. Before the younger man could even question it, he was staring suddenly into the other's eyes as Till asked him in a deep and almost-shy voice - ' _darf ich Sie duzen?_ '  
  
It took them almost two years from the initial introduction to get to that stage, and it was also well worth the wait. Turning his back on the shower, he lets out a quiet sigh - Till's charms haven't lessened any in the subsequent years that they've been friends. A lot of things have changed, but not those. A mixed blessing. Till hasn't let fame and wealth get to what makes him attractive in the first place, and because of that Richard's now left to struggle with his emotions. His thoughts are cut short when the showerhead splutters, interrupting the spray of water - noting it as a precursor to the hot water running out completely, the guitarist quickly reaches up and shuts it off, letting himself drip dry before he steps out. A chill runs through his body, but he largely manages to ignore it as he reaches for the towel and starts dabbing himself dry. Quite a hot and refreshing shower, overall satisfying; it hasn't helped with his feelings towards Till, but then he didn't expect it to in the first place. Hopefully he can get back to watching over the man soon. Richard drapes the towel around his waist and picks up the pile of clothes before wiping off some of the steam from the bathroom mirror - he gives his reflection one casual glance and turns to go, before something catches his eyes and he backtracks.  
  
The roots of his hair are showing through, creating the jarring contrast of light brown and black. The guitarist runs his fingers through his hair, peering closely - it'll become harder to ignore within a day or two. Richard sighs heavily and searches the cupboards to see if there's any black hair dye. Flake often dyes his hair in many different shades, so dye is an essential commodity to have around. He'll replace it after. Sadly, there is no such luck - there's dye for blond, auburn and light brown hair, but not the one he's looking for. But then, he probably has no business staying at Flake's place and using his hair dye out of all the things he could use.   
  
He scrutinizes himself in the mirror again, leaning over as far as he can over the sink. Richard nibbles at his bottom lip lightly and runs his hand through his hair again, frowning. He used to have brown hair once, which was light enough to show hints of blondism; but a darker tone always seemed to suit him much better, and everyone else seemed inclined to agree.  
  
Till really likes blondes. The women he's usually seen with nearly always have beautiful blonde hair. Richard suddenly wonders whether he should quickly dab on some of that dye now; his current hairstyle won't work as well with blond hair, but if Till saw him like that he might feel like forgiving him sooner. Maybe it'd even turn him on. At this point in his thoughts, and in his sheer exhaustion over the day's events, Richard lets out a chuckle that quickly turns into near-hysterical peals of laughter. He's aware that he's sounding utterly demented, and somehow that makes the situation seem more darkly humorous; he slaps the edges of the basin while laughing, clutching at it eventually, feeling as if he's about to keel over from lack of breath.  
  
"Oh my God," he whispers to himself in between deranged bouts of chuckling, inhaling and exhaling in sharp irregular bursts, trying to calm himself down and failing. "I'm so fucked up."  
  
He could be spending this time in a more productive manner; he could watch over Till, he could fetch them both some dinner, he could even wait for the older man to wake up and have a long heart-to-heart with him. Especially the latter - there haven't been many conflicts between him and the singer that a long heartfelt conversation over tea hasn't been able to solve. But instead he's entertaining a strange and ridiculous fantasy while stark naked in somebody else's bathroom. How does he manage to know so much about Till and yet know nothing but nearly useless things? It would be wholeheartedly hilarious if it wasn't so screwed up or so sad.  
  
Only does then the realization come: what he knows of Till is _not enough_. He's enchanted by Till's creativity and the idea of him, he knows the singer through his poems, but he's overestimated his ability to understand the man as a person. Suddenly the older man feels so far away, locked away too deeply within his own mind for Richard to reach out to him, and along with this sense of loss comes another wave of crushing self-hate and disappointment. All because of a tube of hair dye. Life is a tragicomedy, Olli once said; there's no need to even try to prove that statement when one can just sit back and let the thing write itself.  
  
All this does is to add yet another layer to his already-confused and complicated feelings towards the singer. He would quite like to be with Till, spend more time with him, hold him and maybe even pleasure him, but then there are thousands out there who feel exactly the same. Plenty of women and some men out there would give anything for a piece of Till, and chances are that they don't know the man to his fullest extent, either. Perhaps about as much as Richard does at the very most. He's certainly not alone in his extent of knowledge, but this is not at all comforting because he's meant to be Till's best friend, his lead guitarist and closest moral support. Surely _he_ , out of all people, should be doing much better in that department. But for all he claims to know, he might as well be exactly like just one groupie out of thousands, and how can he justify his feelings as genuine and special when that's all it seems to be?  
  
Richard groans and leans forward, letting his forehead rest on the mirror with a dull thud. All of this is far too unpleasant to dwell on for too long, and it always seems to be the case that Richard ends up doing exactly that. He wonders if Till understands him as a human being, and within seconds comes to the distasteful conclusion that he doesn't. In fact it might even be worse, because Till outright refuses to acknowledge the younger man's need for emotional release beyond what the singer can support him with. That's not even a matter of concern; it's simply a need to control aspects of the guitarist's life out of belief that that's the best thing for both of them. As he mindlessly rubs off the steam clouding the surface of the mirror, he also becomes conscious that Till likely knows all of this himself - and simply doesn't even want to accept it. In that sense, he's not much better off than Richard is.  
  
Even though they've got the other's best interests in mind - they both have a long, long way to go when it comes to acceptance.  
  
And Richard can't see the end of it.  
  
 _Nobody understands, not even you._


	5. 'Hässlich... du bist hässlich!'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer as previously stated.**
> 
> I'm back at university after having come back from my long Christmas holiday! And university means work. So yeah I don't think I'll be updating this for a while; there will likely be an update before 10th of Feb, but it might not come after a week/fortnight after this one as my usual update schedule has been.
> 
> So here I am spamming this place with more angst and Till/Richard that is getting more and more evident with each chapter. Along with a semi-cliffhanger to boot. Richard is a surprisingly difficult character to write without making him insufferable - and I'm not sure if I'm doing the best job - and quite frankly, this being my interpretation of a real man I've got nobody but myself to blame! x_x
> 
> At least he gets better. In return for Till arguably... getting worse? Read and find out.

**Silence (Chapter 5)** \- _'H_ _ä_ _sslich... du bist h_ _ä_ _sslich!'_

\-----------

His brief fit of madness is over, and Richard leaves the bathroom feeling even more depressed than before. The others still appear to be in the kitchen, so he walks straight across the hallway without much thought - and stops dead in his tracks to see the door to his room wide open.

"Till?"

He quickly rushes inside, seeing only an empty bed. Till's jacket and boots are also gone, but the bedsheets still have the faint imprint of his body on it, along with a heavily crumpled section on one side of the bed. There's no reason for any of the band members to have physically carried him out again. Richard can only deduce that the singer left by himself while he was having his shower, and loudly utters a heartfelt ' _Schei_ _ß_ _e!'_ at the thought of how he could have talked to him if not for his abysmal timing. He quickly pulls on a loose pair of trousers and a shirt before leaving the room and anxiously poking his head around the corner. The voices from the kitchen are low and muffled; he can barely hear anything that they're saying, but within a minute he decides that Till is not amongst them. That only leaves one more option - Richard turns away and jogs upstairs, not sure what he's about to come face to face with but not really caring.

His thought is confirmed when he sees that Till's bedroom door is shut. The singer is quite likely inside and awake, as can be seen from the lights showing through the cracks in the doorway. Richard exhales in relief - he _should_ be annoyed, but he's just so glad to see that Till safely made his way upstairs that he disregards that sentiment. He leans against the wall, letting out another heavy sigh and feeling the tension leave his body in response. Now that Till's most definitely awake, he can at least ask if the singer's up to talking through some things.

Richard knocks three times. "It's me. Are you okay in there, Till?" there is no reply. He presses one ear to the door, hearing what vaguely sounds like footsteps. "can I come in?"

Till doesn't answer, but the guitarist withdraws nervously when he hears the footsteps quicken and start circling the room in an erratic, agitated rhythm. That can't be a good sign. For all he knows he might be riling up the older man even more, and the last thing either of them needs is another fight. Richard stares at the door, biting his lip nervously and wondering what to do next. He's got to talk to the man and get some things through before morning if the remainder of his stay is going to be in any way productive, but how can he do that when he's quite clearly not welcome in the singer's room?

A note might be good, although Richard does immediately dismiss the idea on the grounds that it's impersonal. He's hardly capable of writing a good note of apology, and should he state the wrong thing, it's going to sound much worse in writing. If there's one thing that the younger man hasn't been able to learn yet during his period of recovery from his divorce, or even during his entire life, it's the art of apologizing properly; but at least he's perfectly aware that he's not very good at it. Best to just get his feelings out straight away, right there, regardless of whether Till's listening or not - then at least his stance would be made clear. He can repeat it if need be.

He stares at the grooves on the wood as he organizes his thoughts, figuring out what exactly he should and shouldn't be apologizing for. As much as he wants to make it up to Till, he won't apologize for something that is clearly not his fault. He won't _yield_ unquestioningly to the older man's demands, just because they've argued over it - they're both in the wrong. Till has presented him with an unspoken ultimatum - _choose Emigrate or me, you can't have both_. Is jeopardizing years' worth of their friendship really worth it just for his own gratification? And Richard doesn't take long to come up with his rebuttal: _well, why can't I, exactly?_ Their friendship shouldn't even be being questioned for something relatively minor like this; with Till blowing it out of proportion to this sort of level, that would make the worth of their entire friendship questionable by proxy. And he knows that Till doesn't want that; losing the younger man as a friend is the last thing he would _ever_ want. He's been acquainted with the singer long enough to be able to safely assume that much, and that fact should really speak for itself. With that assurance, he sits down properly in front of the door and speaks up.

"I'm not going to apologize for Emigrate," Richard says as firmly as he can manage, hoping that the message is being properly carried through the door separating them both. "that is not something that I feel that I should be apologizing for, Till. I don't think I can make it clearer that my allegiance is to our band, first and foremost. Emigrate is not much different in essence to you acting or writing. Neither are exclusively for Rammstein, but you integrate both into the band's input, don't you? At the same time, you take up acting roles and publish poetry outside all of that anyway. We've never had a problem with that. If I come off as too arrogant for asking you to show me the same courtesy... then I'm afraid that this is still where I stand. I won't ask you to appreciate or even listen to what I've got for the project - I won't even demand that you approve. I don't really have a say in what you feel and I wouldn't want it the other way either, not when you're so much better off for it. But I'm a human being like you. Like all of us. It's not a matter of controlling, you can't control how or what I feel. And what I feel is that I need Emigrate when I'm not actively working within Rammstein. I need a means of emotional release like you do with your poetry, now more than ever. I'm still getting over the divorce, it's hard, and to be honest I'm not sure if I'll be completely over it even after a year or two. Or ever. I'm..." he pauses for a second, flashing back to the events of late morning and closing his eyes tightly to forget before opening them again. "I'm not a traitor, Till. That's what I want to say. You hurt me a lot this morning, and you need to understand that."

There's of course no response. But he can vaguely hear some shuffling behind the door, so the singer must be awake and listening. Good enough.

"But..." he sighs. "... I do owe you an apology too. For not understanding. For just assuming things instead of explaining myself to you. I made a mistake in not consulting you first - hell, if I'd just given you a call, had talked things through with you properly before I came here, I don't think things would have escalated to this point. I'm sorry, Till. I mean it. We could have avoided this if I'd just been more attentive, and I accept that I was negligent. God knows how anybody puts up with me. I'm sorry that I jumped straight to accusations, when I know that you're depressed and tired as well. You're the furthest thing from an arrogant bastard that anyone can think of; it's obvious in the way you act, that you haven't let our success get to you, and that's just the way things should be. I genuinely didn't think that Emigrate might come across as me rubbing your troubles in further."

He pauses there for breath, wondering if he's getting his apology through or if it's coming off as a thinly veiled insult in Till's point of view. The latter would be absolutely disastrous. Richard then suddenly has a horrible thought; what if Till had actually been somewhat conscious when he'd been curled up with him? What if he felt Richard in his arms, stroking his hair and touching his skin? And what if by doing all of those things, Richard has ended up unwittingly giving the older man another reason to dislike him? This is such a terrible possibility that Richard very nearly gets cold feet right there and then, wanting desperately to run back to the solace of his bedroom, but he nevertheless stays. _This is for Till,_ he tells himself - he can go away to wherever he may please, but not before completing his apology, and that makes him steel his nerves a little.

"I wish... you'd talk to me more often. Don't think I haven't noticed you struggling, because I have. You helped me at the worst times, Till, you stayed by me and let me heal when I was still trying to concile myself with Caron leaving... and I want to help you, too. I can't be close to you often because I'm living in the USA now and it's far away, but I've never been further away than a phone call away from you. Today's proved to me that I don't know you as much as I ought to and want to. And I can't stress enough how much I want to. I'll make more effort from now on... the times before Rammstein, when we had nothing in the world to worry about and just sat together, remember those times? I want it to be like that again."

"I've seen the way that you don't even look at the audience anymore and just stare far ahead when you're on stage, for one. I still remember you telling me about that phobia, if it's still there, then please... talk to me. That goes for anything you're finding hard," Richard can't stop himself from saying the next part aloud, though: "but... what exactly are you searching for, Till? What's missing?"

It might just be his imagination, but he's certain that sometime during his apology the footsteps behind the door have stopped. But the light's still on, so the older man must still be awake. He thinks of the singer's gaze, his eyes fixed in the lights behind the audience, blank yet intense - and rather fancies that Till is seeking _understanding_. That might be the solution to everything, dastardly simple and yet ever so elusive. Not even Richard is currently able to provide it for him, after all, though he's going to try his damnedest from now on. And what if he alone doesn't satisfy the singer's will?

"I think I might know, Till," Richard murmurs against the door, pressing against the wood and imagining Till standing behind it, waiting for him to say more. "but I don't think that anyone else does. And even if I was right, I don't know if that's enough for you."

Not knowing what else to say and feeling emotionally drained, Richard sighs heavily, thinking of how he can end it there and bid Till good night without sounding careless - but he freezes in place when he hears something creak behind the door, clearer and a lot _closer_ than he expected. "Till?" he whispers. "are you... are you there?"

Silence. But when Richard looks down, he sees the door handle twitch a little, as if someone behind the door has rested their hand on it. Shocked, the guitarist follows his line of sight downwards and sees that the light pouring from the room beneath the doorway has been shadowed somehow.

"...!"

With a startled gasp, the younger man presses himself against the door again and hears something that confirms his suspicions: the sound of breathing, a little quicker than normal but undoubtedly Till's. The man is there, standing right in front of the door, hesitating to open it and come face to face with the guitarist. This can only mean (coupled with the lack of any anger from the other's part) that only a piece of wood is standing between him and a considerably-sobered up Till.

Who knows what'll happen next? Till might be wanting to invite him in, he might be wanting to give Richard a more calm version of events. The night might end with reconciliation and forgiveness, both of them coming downstairs to inform the band that they've sorted out things properly. But then again, the door still hasn't opened and Till hasn't said a single word to him; what if he's somehow angered the older man even more? He can't think of anything that he might have said that could have set him off again, but he thought that before he came to Berlin and that didn't turn out well at all. In his excitement and fear, Richard imagines various scenarios as to what might happen next; Till inviting him in and quietly apologizing, both of them embracing in mutual forgiveness, Till and he both standing in awkward silence, Till opening the door to snarl that he should go back to his goddamn room because he understands precisely nothing about the older man, even him throwing open the door and starting another shouting match that will inevitably end up involving everyone in the house. What makes it more utterly terrifying is that all of those are equally possible, and more than one might happen at the same time or one right after another. It seems to be too much of a risk to take right now.

And even if he wasn't angry, Richard suddenly isn't sure whether he'd actually be able to look Till in the face and talk to him, after all that's happened and after his various fantasies in the shower. Will he be able to keep a straight face and be able to talk, really _talk_ to the singer without being distracted by the thought of the other's warmth and the smoothness of his skin? Richard has the uncanny feeling that his expressions and body language will give his feelings away as clear as anything to someone as sensitive as Till. He just can't handle all this tonight. So Richard bites the bullet and goes for the choice that he will grow to dearly regret in the days and weeks afterwards; he mumbles a quick ' _sch_ _ö_ _nen Abend'_ against the door and pulls away without waiting for an answer. He takes a few steps backwards, seeing that Till isn't about to follow, and then spins around and runs down the stairs, fleeing into the darkness and into his solitude.

\-----

Till's warmth is still lingering on the sheets.

That's the first thing that Richard notices when he comes back, dejected, and sits down on the bed. He brushes the imprint of Till's body on the sheets lightly, now wanting nothing more than to just go to sleep, but before he can smooth it out he stops as he feels that it's still warm. Without a further thought he lies down on the bed fully, cautiously laying one arm over the spot and marvelling at how it's managed to last this long. Till radiates truly incredible amounts of body heat. Really, come to think of it, this isn't a new or surprising fact; the singer sweats quite heavily during performances from a combination of adrenaline and hours' worth of stage lighting, and he doesn't wear long sleeves and warm clothes that much even during winter because he simply claims to not feel the cold. Richard's thoughts drift over to what it would feel like to lie with Till without the barrier of clothes between them, to feel his burning skin against his own body, making him blush. Only a lover could have that sort of privilege, of course, but he can dream.

 _So what if my feelings towards Till don't equate to love_ , the detached voice in the back of his mind quips. _Who says that I can't go for him anyway? If he and I understand each other to the same extent, which is to say not as much as we initially thought, then how is it any different to just a casual fling with a groupie? Neither of us are exactly strangers to those kind of encounters. What harm can it do?_ Richard ponders on this before he shudders and mentally chastises himself for even considering such a thing - first he tried to touch and hold Till while the other was passed out, and now he's thinking of just forcing himself on him. Whatever he's becoming, Richard is disgusted at it. And all this after having rambled on about how Till can always talk to him, how he'll always be there, and destroying his points entirely by _running_ away like a coward. How can Till consider him a friend at all?

He might be finding it hard to figure out the exact nature of their relationship, but one thing he knows for sure is that it's worth a hell of a lot more than just a friends-with-benefits kind of thing. Potentially falling for a man doesn't bother him - the younger man would have been perfectly happy to start a relationship with him before the formation of Rammstein. He'd have been happy to kiss the older man in 1994, be seen holding hands in public, all the usual things that lovers do given that they were _actually_ in love. Richard also concurs that his stance hasn't really changed since then; if one morning he had the sudden revelation that he was in love with the singer, and it turned out that the man felt the same, he probably wouldn't hold back.

Out of pure curiosity, he tries saying 'I love you' out loud. The words come, but they sound dry and oddly far away; it simply doesn't feel right, awkward and childish, nothing like what it ought to be. Richard sighs heavily, too dejected to try again, knowing that he has no business making that sort of statement when he doesn't even know what to believe anymore. Love is love, regardless of gender or sexuality. It's also a word with heavy responsibilities and various connotations clinging to it, as Richard and Till both know from their ill-fated marriages. Not a word to throw around with ease.

Maybe this is just an infatuation, a simple crush that's somehow carried on for over ten years. Maybe it's the desire to satisfy his physical needs, now that Caron is out of his life, and the singer just happens to be intensely attractive to him. None of those things are love, and that disturbs Richard. Wanting Till and loving Till are not the same thing, and he's got no desire to use the man for his own pleasure if that's all it's ever going to be, because if Till tried the same on him he wouldn't like it either. And it's just a darn shame that none of those problems will be solved even if there are genuine feelings of adoration involved. Richard might simply be in love with the mere _idea_ of Till for all he knows, desiring what he _thinks_ that the singer can offer him. He made that mistake with Caron, and it's really not one that he wants to repeat ever again in life, let alone even bring his friend into it. Richard is too old to let himself chase a fantasy again and expect it to turn out perfectly in real life. Even if Richard genuinely and completely loved the singer for who he was, Till then has reciprocate and the rest of the band has to be fine with it for things to work out. If not, that's just the end of it regardless of how intense the guitarist's feelings are. There are far too many different complicated layers to consider here, and until he gets to grips with his own feelings, telling the older man about any of this is completely out of the question.

 _Perhaps it'd be a loss to tell him at all_ , the voice in the back of his mind says yet again in that detached tone. _He's already angry at me. Even if he forgave me, things won't quite be the same anymore after what we both said and did._

Where was all this care and consideration when he was with Caron?

 _Wow, Till was right. My priorities are screwed up._ Apart from the initial sense of disbelief, Richard is actually more surprised at how apathetic he feels towards this - like it's something that he _should_ have known all this time and somehow didn't quite manage to get until now. Without really thinking about what he's doing, the guitarist wriggles out of his shirt and lets it drop to the floor, still lying sideways on the bed. He unbuttons his trousers and slides them off as well, still with the same amount of apathy towards the entire situation. Only Till and what he feels for the singer seems to matter at all. And he hates himself for caring so much, for clinging pointlessly onto someone who probably doesn't like him as anything more than a close friend. But most of all, he hates the fact that he's burning for the other's touch without having sorted out his feelings to a coherent form, because it feels like he's degrading Till to a mindless obsession. He feels cold and ugly inside, and while his touches were as minor and as gentle as possible - he hopes that Till really hasn't noticed, hasn't seen the ugly side of him, because if he did then he might just die of shame.

 _He won't waste himself on me._

He can settle for leftovers, at least. Richard curls up on the bed, having shed the majority of his clothes; he gently presses the side of his face onto the sheets and closes his eyes longingly, feeling the last of Till's warmth against his bare skin. Without realizing that he's doing it, he slowly clutches the sheets closer to his body and shivers with desire, imagining the older man's hands on him, enveloping him in his heat, holding him there in the darkness. It consoles him just a little bit, lets him think that perhaps he's happier this way; the singer's slowly-fading warmth penetrating deep within his confused and exhausted mind, soothing and saddening him at the same time.

 _"Ich..."_ he murmurs against the fabric, keeping his eyes tightly shut to maintain his fantasy. " _Ich will..."_

But no matter how much he wishes for the moment to last, no matter how much he tries to save both, Till's scent and heat eventually vanish into nothingness; Richard spends the night alone, full of yearning and yet so cold and empty at the same time, the knowledge of all his flaws driving him further into despair.

\-----

" _Sie kom-men zu euch in der Nacht_ -"

Richard is at the conditioner stage of dying his hair, having gone out at seven in the morning to buy his own damn hair dye. Five minutes before he can rinse it off. At least the smell of dye isn't too bad, the guitarist having locked himself in a spare room to prevent it spreading through the house and having kept the windows open through the entire process. Richard is a lot of things, but inconsiderate is something he isn't, especially regarding other people's living space. This stems from the time that he lived together with Olli and Schneider, and it's a fine personality trait to have, too.

"- _und stehlen eure kleinen heissen Tr_ _ä_ _-nen_!"

He likes to strum on his guitar quietly whenever he's dying his hair. Not getting it all over the instrument is an art that he's mastered over the years. After this he's got to put on some nail polish as well, but of course there's where he draws the line - he never touches his guitars straight after painting his nails, and actually quite often leaves them be for the entire day for fear of ruining the strings or getting the polish chipped.

" _Sie warten bis der Mond erwacht_..."

Richard quietly bobs his head to the rhythm of the song; he put on a random song from 'Mutter' in the background so that he can play along. Richard prides himself in his ability to sound almost exactly the same live as in the recording studio, and this is not a new kind of practice for him; being able to keep the important flourishes and sense of timing in the sheet music is one thing and being able to improvise things live is yet another. The guitarist is well accomplished enough for both, and he knows it well.

" _und dr_ _ü_ _cken sie in meine kalten Venen!_ "

It's not the best kind of song for him to play alone; he really would do better if Paul were around. But for now, the recorded music will have to do. It's just something that'll allow him to pass five minutes anyway and keep his mind off things. Richard did think about working out some chords for the next Emigrate song, but decided that perhaps he was better off playing that material under request only. He's still going to go ahead with the project and share his ideas about it to the rest of the band members, but after all that fiasco, they could all do with not hearing Emigrate all over the place. Besides, having gotten his apology out (and having slept considerably more), Richard is feeling somewhat better about Till and is just as enchanted as ever with his voice. The fact that this song doesn't have anything to do with romance or unrequited longing also helps - he can think of his daughter first and foremost and Till second.

" _Nun, liebe Kinder, gebt fein Acht_ ," he can't resist singing along; 'Mein Herz Brennt' was the perfect opening song to their third album, and Richard's always appreciated it particularly for its chorus. " _Ich bin die Stimme... aus dem Kiss-en..._!"

Khira Li was eight when they made that album, and at that young age they'd 'commissioned' her voice to use there. Come to think of it, Till had written a lot of songs dedicated to or about children back then, and Richard can't help but wonder if his daughter's presence sparked it somehow. After all, when they were making 'Mutter', they had been all out of their earlier material and Till had worked long days and nights to come up with totally new and original things. He took inspiration from anything nearby, and Nele had been too old to be called a child then whilst Khira Li was still quite little. He'd also been very gentle with Khira Li during the few recording sessions they'd had together, sitting her down and telling her stories whenever there were breaks, and these times are likely a big part of why she thinks of the singer as a second father of sorts.

" _Ich singe bis der Tag er-wacht_ -"

Khira Li, like both Till and Richard, also has very little fear of fire and often innocently comments on pyrotechnics that the band could have arranged to be 'more spectacular' whenever she sees videos of their shows. She's also never been scared of Till, even with all the nightmarish things that he frequently sung about, often right in front of her. Even the stories that he told her, while nowhere near as dark as his usual poems, had their fair share of morbid bits. He'd even asked Till about it once, only to be answered with a little smile and a casual statement that he'd done the same when Nele had been little. Moreover, being in the same band, Richard isn't one to talk - he quite likely hasn't helped matters much. They've both unwittingly conditioned their daughters to accept horror, and while some might be outraged, his personal opinion is that it was probably for the best. He wonders if the others have brought up their children similarly.

"- _ein heller... Schein am Firmament_..."

The singer probably found all this quite endearing, and it shows in this song quite wonderfully. Till's own dark lullaby.

" _Mein - Herz - brennt_!"

Richard breaks out into the main melody, playing the familiar chords with his eyes closed, whispering along to the words. He's very much into it, but thankfully also has the sense to peer at the clock and determine that he has most of his five minutes still remaining. Richard lets the song fade away to its relatively quiet bridge before swinging a foot over and pressing 'stop', the entire room falling silent with the faint 'click' of the button. Not enough time for another, but maybe there's room for a couple of chord progressions before he calls it a day.

"B," he mutters, taking up his pick again. "C-sharp - E-flat-"

"Risch."

Startled, the guitarist narrowly stops himself from dropping the pick on the ground; taking a deep breath, he reluctantly turns around, pretending as if nothing happened and faking a blank expression.

"... Yes?"

Till is standing in the doorway with the phone in hand. He doesn't meet Richard's eyes, but he looks considerably cleaned up and in a more calm state of mind. "Khira Li called."

"Oh."

Pause. Till shifts uncomfortably on his feet before raising his eyes to meet Richard's - he doesn't look angry, which the other is relieved to see. "I told her you would be calling back. She sounded quite cheerful."

"That's good," the guitarist says stiffly. He switches to playing a different set of chords, frantically thinking of a way that he can get out of this situation. "uh... thanks for that, I guess."

They fall into a very awkward and uncomfortable silence after that, which only lasts something like half a minute but seems to last forever anyway. It's Richard who nevertheless speaks up first, gathering all his courage to stop a repeat scenario of the previous night from happening. "Listen, about yesterday..."

"I did hear your apology last night, Risch," Till says, and his voice is so soft that the younger man actually stops playing for a moment to pay him his undivided attention. "I accept it, too. And I... I also acknowledge that I massively overreacted yesterday. You didn't deserve to be treated like that from me, not... well, not after everything that's happened. It was inconsiderate of me-"

 _I need to rinse out my hair,_ Richard inwardly screams in his mind, although at the same time he's marveling at the ease with which Till is apologizing to him. _It's starting to burn. How do I get out of this?_

"-to indeed just assume things. So, yes... I'm sorry too, Risch," Till takes a deep breath, and even though it was fairly laconic of him, Richard knows that it must have taken immense bravery on his part to be able to say it face to face. The older man extends his hand. "still friends?"

"Yes, of course," he grasps it with his own, feeling a mixture of joy and a strange emptiness arise within him as Till's large (and much to his chagrin, _very pleasantly warm_ ) hand closes gratefully around his. "still friends. And I did mean it when I said that I want to understand you better. If there's anything troubling you... promise me that you'll tell me, please?"

What looks a little like plaintive sadness flickers behind Till's eyes for a moment, but soon enough the older man nods. "I promise."

Another stretch of silence falls between them; it's a little less tense this time, but somehow it's still a hefty presence. "I also meant it when I said that I wouldn't force Emigrate's output on you, Till. So don't worry about that. I've got only a demo CD anyway, it's juvenile and not even polished, there's no need for you to listen-"

"I already did," Till says, making Richard blink in surprise.

"You did? How?"

The singer reaches into his jacket and very carefully takes out the demo CD of Emigrate, walking forwards to hand it over to Richard. "Flake told me that he'd listened to it, and that it was good. I checked it out myself. And he wasn't lying at all, you know how he is."

This statement hits Richard like a metaphorical brick to the forehead in so many ways that he briefly feels like he's about to either pass out or run out screaming from the room. For one, a considerable feeling of light joy and happiness is welling up within him - _Till approved_ , he finds himself thinking excitedly, _he thought it was actually good_! In the span of that one day Richard had pretty much given up all hope of Till ever wanting to listen to Emigrate, so this is incredibly good news. Overshadowing it, however, is a mind-numbingly _negative_ surge of emotions that even he didn't see coming. He feels utter dread that his friend might have sought out the demo when it wasn't really in his best interests, dismay that he in the end didn't get to be the one who personally presented Till with his work, and the old feeling of bitter irrational resentment that it had to be _Flake_ out of everybody else who did so (even though logically nobody else would have known, the keyboardist wouldn't have told them about the fight because he's nothing if he can't keep secrets).

 _Can you stop mindlessly resenting your keyboardist for a second_ , the voice inside his logical centre scolds. _If anything, you still owe him something for getting you out of that mess and setting you straight._

"Anything that you want of me regarding Emigrate... I'll be happy to provide it for you," Till is saying.

 _You wanted this in the first place, didn't you? You got it in the end, didn't you? So what are you so stunned about?_

"Thanks, Till, I appreciate it," Richard grins and pauses awkwardly before making a feeble gesture towards his hair. "I... I don't mean to be rude, but... I need to..."

The older man's eyes widen for a second. "Oh. Oh, of course. I'll leave you be, then. Hope it turns out all right," much to the guitarist's simultaneous relief and disappointment, Till then turns around to go; he pushes open the door before stopping for a moment. "Risch?"

"... Hmm?"

"... I'm quite fond of 'Mein Herz Brennt' too," the older man gives him a faint ghost of a smile. "your riffs are sublime. Maybe we should have made that a proper single back then after all."

And then Till leaves him be.

Richard stares ahead with the same forced, vague smile on his face, playing the same couple of chords over and over again - when he suddenly reaches over, grabs the amp and turns it up to max setting before stabbing viciously at the E-string with his pick, making his guitar produce an inhuman wailing noise, letting it scream for him because he can't do it himself. It's exquisitely painful to listen to and by this time it really does feel like the conditioner is burning right through, but he clenches his teeth and endures it with that manic grin, his happiness mingling into what he might describe as the good kind of pain.

It's not long before he dimly registers a pounding on the walls through the wailing. "Risch. _Risch_!" Schneider's voice calls out, punctuated with a couple of loud thumps. "will you _cut that out_? Seriously!"

"Sorry about that, Doom!" he calls back, and releases his grip on the string. He turns the amp down again, still grinning, the screaming noise ringing in his ears. "an accident with the amp!"

The pounding stops.

"I didn't mean to do that, honestly."

Pause.

" _It won't happen again_."

\-----

His remaining stay at Flake's goes well otherwise. The band members' relief at seeing Till and Richard on cordial terms is almost tangible to the guitarist, although they do a very good job of hiding it. When he returns to New York City, with some new ideas for lyrics, multiple appointments with his friends in the city who are also joining him in his project and another entire song planned out in his notebook (along with an ecstatic Khira Li jumping into his arms and asking how his trip was), he can almost fool himself into thinking that perhaps things will be smooth from now on. But Richard has been through far too much in recent years and knows far better than to be naive like that.

It's odd how triumph can feel so utterly hollow. Richard tells himself that he should be feeling better: he's gotten what he's wanted, with Till's full approval Emigrate has been given the full go-ahead by proxy and he no longer _should_ be feeling guilty about anything. Yet with every passing day he becomes only more and more aware of his pyrrhic victory, and it tears him up inside. He could have Till and Emigrate both; what he didn't count on was having his confidence badly shaken in return. Confidence that he'd built up over all that time, recovering from his divorce and trying to sort himself out. Somehow he can't help but think that he's perhaps had to forfeit a large chunk of the most valuable asset that he'd possessed so that he could keep both Till and Emigrate. Can't have everything, indeed. Work needs to be done, though, so he at the same time tells himself that there are far more important things at stake and suspends his angst for the time being. It's not fair on the others who have aided him with Emigrate, and it's certainly not fair on his daughter if he keeps on moping around. He hasn't been the best example of a good person so far, but this incident has shaken him up so much that he starts actively thinking of the possible effects that _any_ minor action of his might have on others, and this arguably both helps him become a better human being and a temporary neurotic.

It's probably a human moral that he missed out on from the beginning, back when he was still a boy and life was considerably free of serious consequences. At least he's learning now, so he should be grateful and also accept the punishment for not having learnt in all those forty years that he's been alive because beggars can't be choosers. The only real consolation is that he's come out of this with a slightly better idea as to how to be able to reach out to Till.

But nobody said anything about it actually working. Richard stretches out and rubs his eyes, exhausted; his daughter's already said goodnight to him, and he should be going to bed too but there's still one thing left for him to do. He looks at the clock - 2:30 in the morning, which means that it must be 8:30pm in Berlin. Picking up the phone, he makes the international call to a number that he knows off by heart.

" _Hallo_ -"

" _Guten Abend,_ Till-" but he stops as he recognizes that particular tone of voice. It's not Till at the other end; at least not his _actual_ self. Richard sighs worriedly as he lets the answering machine message play.

"- _das Telefon von Till Lindemann erreicht. Bitte sprechen Sie nach dem Signalton,"_ a small pause, then Till's voice repeats the message in his accented English. _"please leave a message after the tone. Vielen Dank, und sch_ _ö_ _nen Tag_."

Beep. The younger man speaks up, keeping his voice neither too cheerful nor too depressed. "It's me, Richard. I hope you're doing okay, I just wanted to check up on you. As for me, things are all right back here, but I do..." he pauses for only a second, hoping that what he's about to say is not going to be a give-away. "...miss having you around. I assume you're out having dinner or something along those lines, whatever it might be, I hope it's good," a chuckle. "it's half past two, so I need to go to bed, but call me back soon, Till. I'll always be here. _Guten Abend_."

After checking that his message has indeed been recorded, he puts the phone down and leans back, allowing the worry to wash over him yet again. Till has kept his side of the bargain for most part, approving and offering honest (if a little distant) feedback to his songs. He's also faithfully calling Richard or returning the other's calls as quickly as possible. But the one thing that he still isn't yet doing, despite Richard's pleas, is talking to people about his problems. Of course he gives honest answers when Richard asks for them, but only if the man actually asks and not out of his will. There is also no indication that he's letting on anything of this vein to other people, either. It's frustrating as all hell - if he's not depressed about Emigrate anymore, then _what_ is he actually depressed about? Richard doesn't know, and by this point in time he also realizes that whatever the reason might be, he might do even more harm by prodding Till for answers. Seeing as he's reached the point where he's listened to their songs so much that he can't derive more from them, there's no help there, either. Perhaps if he looked through one of Till's personal notebooks he would find out more, but that is a privilege that no one apart from the man himself will have. Not even significant others would be an exception. Richard sighs heavily and turns out the light, climbing haphazardly into bed, knowing that in a few hours Till will awaken him with a call.

 t's surprisingly harder than he thought it would be to support someone who's otherwise grown up and capable of taking care of themselves, which does make the guitarist marvel as to how the older man dealt with him when he was in that downward spiral. Now Till's passed on the responsibility of mutual care for a friend in hard times onto him, and Richard is doing his hardest to return that obligation. Unfortunately it appears that the man has no idea that he ever passed that metaphorical baton on at all. Richard needs to be given a break, Khira Li needs to be given a stable and happy family environment, and as for Till, it might be too late now to be give him anything. But he can't accept that thought, so it doesn't stop him trying anyway. Even though his feelings are growing stronger daily (much to his dismay), he only needs to think of the dejected expression on Till's face or the promise he made a long time ago, where he swore that he would not let the singer be unhappy, to be able to push them aside for the time being and focus on helping the man out.

So Richard doesn't make any advances, instead letting his songs speak for him. He's attempting to reach out on the same level as Till, in something beyond language - not German nor English, but through music and very carefully chosen combinations of words. It's the best that he can hope for; he's holding out his hand towards the older man, hoping to be able to lead Till out of his depression the same way the singer did for him. He might not yet fully understand Till, but nevertheless he's making it as clear as possible that he's always there to talk to. Richard knows that he's verging on genuine desperation and subliminality when he finds himself sending Till one of the first printed copies of Emigrate's first album - with the lyrics of the final song underlined in faint pencil in the lyrics booklet. (As for whether it actually worked or if Till even looked in there, the guitarist has no idea.)

 _Help me  
Sing this song for you  
Like I always do._

But what use is that, if Till won't let him help?

Of course, Till and Richard are hardly the only ones going through this sort of turmoil. They get back together and officially announce the end of their hiatus in 2007, but in reality Richard suspects that they aren't actually feeling that motivated to start working on a new album; it might be more the demand of the fans and the desire to prove a point, that they aren't breaking up, rather than genuine inspiration. Nevertheless, the guitarist is practicing being a man of his word, and dutifully finishes his album and his input within Emigrate, leaving the project on a positive note to develop without him during his absence. Olli's advice has come in very handy there. He's achieved his goal, received the assurance that he will be welcome to come back to his side project at any time, and has wrapped up things very neatly. In essence he resolves one thing nicely and leaves it so that he can merrily wander into another mess.

And what a mess it is. In their still bland and uninspired state, disillusionment is still running rampant amongst them. They just can't see past the smoke and the grit, and even though Richard (along with Paul) is one of the more freshened-up members of the band after their hiatus, sometimes he finds himself lighting up a cigarette or pouring himself a drink and thinking: _I temporarily hate all of you_. It upsets and disturbs him, but doesn't hinder him thinking it anyway, because he still bears some hard feelings towards everyone (save for Till and Flake) for hiding the singer's outbursts from him until that confrontation took place. A warning would have been acceptable, but not downright _covering_ everything up.

What they need is a reset. It's not in the sense of trying to invoke a new sound or taking another long break, either; no amount of hiatuses will help, not when they're already far too famous and adored by many. It isn't quite as special anymore, and contrary to what some might expect, none of them actually were well-equipped to handle such popularity and pressure from the beginning. Not even Richard, arguably the one who was the last to become disillusioned with fame. No, he wants to revert back to simpler times, back during the days of their first two albums, performing smaller gigs underground and enjoying a cozier atmosphere. They'd all been closer to each other then, only what they did and the things they loved mattered. Richard and Till had been much more open with each other. Sometimes the guitarist can't help but think that this is his fault for getting the band together in the first place, and maybe Till would have been more content weaving baskets or doing little jobs here and there. Maybe _all_ of them would have been better off doing their run-of-the-mill jobs. Just goes to show that no one truly appreciates privacy and comfort until they lose it.

Is it too late to have it back?

The entire band takes out their rage on each other and apologizes and goes on to do it all over again during this rough period. Till gets a particularly heavy dose of this; after all, he's the one who's most chased after by reporters and groupies, and it's not even as if he needs to worry about his relationships. He's got children but he's away for six months of the year with the band, and when he's back he spends as much time as possible with them. Till's period of angst has been going on for so long that their patience with him is running thin, and it shows. Richard's prediction that Rammstein would take primary focus on Till's image has come true in a truly vicious way; it would have been nice to know that earlier, but they're slowly realising this only now, over ten years too late. Little do they understand that all this is just grounding down the man even more in his inner torment, eventually building up to one fateful morning when Till suddenly loses his beautiful voice.

Then everything well and truly goes to hell.


	6. 'Ich habe keine Lust mich nicht zu hassen'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: I do not know any of the members of Rammstein; this is strictly a work of fiction that does not intend to profit nor present its portrayal of the band's lives as fact.**
> 
>  
> 
> The good thing about this place is that I can have chapter notes at the beginning and end in this kind of format. I approve muchly! Of course it can be done in DA and AFF.net too, it's not too big of a deal, but the contents of the notes are important so I tend to alter them in relation to different sites. The chapter notes on DA are reflective on what just happened, and the ones in AFF.net are more a pre-chapter comment. Read on for now!

**Silence (Chapter 6) -** _'Ich habe keine Lust mich nicht zu hassen'_

  
\-----------

  
No one can understand it. It just starts up without any real reason as to why. Richard and Till are alone in their hired flat that morning; Paul and Flake are out shopping for some liquor, Olli is in the gym, and Schneider is God knows where. The important thing is that the guitarist is the first one to be treated to Till's sudden silence. They are all actually in fairly good terms at this particular moment, which has been the exception rather than the rule in recent times; no songs or new material has come of it yet, but they're certainly hoping for it, which makes what happens next at least twice as cruel.  
  
"Morning," he greets Till when he wakes up. The singer is sitting in the main room, staring at the blank TV screen. He doesn't look at nor respond to Richard; he's not too surprised by this, so he moves past Till and makes a cup of strong morning coffee. He expects the singer to call out for a cup as well, but he doesn't, which is slightly odd - but not an unusual occurrence. After all, people don't always feel like a cup of coffee. Richard wonders why one _wouldn't_ , but _c'est la vie_.  
  
"Did you sleep well?" he asks as he returns with the cup of coffee and sits down on the other armchair, facing the older man. Again, no reply. "you're quiet."  
  
Till slowly turns to him, and he sees that the singer's face is as white as chalk and he nearly spills his coffee with the sheer shock of it. He places the coffee cup down on the table slowly, trying to keep himself as calm as possible, aware that his hand is shaking so much that a bit of the liquid has spilled from the sides of the cup.  
  
"Till?"  
  
No answer. "Are you feeling alright?"  
  
"..."  
  
Something is very, very wrong.  
  
Till opens his mouth and attempts to talk, but no sound comes out; not even a gasp or a hoarse moan. Richard can see that he's not faking it, he's trying desperately to speak but he just _can't_ \- from the look in his eyes the younger man sees that Till is just as frightened as he is.  
  
"... _Dietrich_ ," he whispers, knowing that Till hates being called that - if nothing else, surely that'll get a reaction. The older man mouths something for a few seconds but stops doing even that, looking down with a horrified expression and one hand moving up to clutch at his throat. "what... what's going on?"  
  
Richard is aware that he's on the verge of hysterics, and with some difficulty manages to calm himself down, telling himself that this isn't going to help his friend in the slightest. Instead of waiting for a reply that quite clearly isn't going to come, he picks up his phone and dials the first number that his dazed mind can think of, his fingers shaking so badly that every press of a button seems to take an eternity. He nearly jumps from his seat and swears roughly when Till's cellphone rings in response. The man stares at his ringing phone and back at Richard with an incredulous look.  
  
" _Scheiße_ ," he says, aware how high his voice has gotten in his utterly mortified state; he disconnects the call and clutches the phone in his hands tightly, feeling as if he's about to pass out. "Till, I'm so sorry. It's just - habit - _oh my God_."  
  
The frozen look on Till's face softens slightly, but he can see that he's made the vocalist feel even worse. Cursing himself, he dials Flake's number (taking special care to get it right) and within seconds is talking to him.  
  
"This is Richard," he says. "Flake, stop whatever you're doing right now and come back here. Paul, too. Never mind the liquor. No, something's gone horribly wrong here, I don't care what he says. It's Till, he can't - he can't talk."  
  
Not the most eloquent description, but Flake knows better than to ask more questions. "We'll be there in a few minutes," he says curtly, and cuts off the call there. The guitarist puts down the phone, feeling slightly better now that help is on its way but at the same time not knowing what exactly he should do next.  
  
"... Do you want anything?" he says in a barely audible voice, staring at the coffee table and speaking in a tone more directed to himself than to Till. He stands up, his head spinning, wanting to do _something_ to settle his mind. "a glass of water, maybe that might..."  
  
But before he can leave, Till gives him his first true response so far by reaching out and grabbing his hand, pulling him back down. The look in his eyes is still shell-shocked, but his grip is so tight and so utterly desperate that Richard can't bring himself to question it. Through that touch alone, even before he is forced to sit back down, he deduces the message that Till is trying to send him: _please don't leave me_.  
  
"I've got you," he murmurs, taking both of the other's hands and holding them tight in their mutual panic; not even his intrusive thoughts usually regarding the older man come to mind. "I won't leave you for anything, Till. You know that. It's okay."  
  
But even with the rest of the band hearing about this incident, there is no improvement. Paul and Flake come back to the flat to see both Richard and Till sitting there stunned and (somewhat literally) dumbstruck, and get to asking them both the same frantic questions. Richard answers them because the other can't even if he wanted to. Schneider follows not a minute later, having also gotten the news.  
  
"What's this about Till being unable to talk?"  
  
"Exactly what it is, Doom," Paul says, running a hand through his hair. Till doesn't meet their eyes. Flake (being the only one who's thinking clearly at this moment) peers at him closely and talks softly to him, trying to get a reaction out of him if not coherent speech. In a way, having waited for the others to turn up and keeping close to the singer was the best thing to do from Richard's part: Till has recovered enough from his shock by this point to be able to nod or shake his head to yes or no questions, and when Flake provides him with a piece of paper and a pen he immediately fires off (in his hurried handwriting) answers to certain things - including what he's feeling right now. A slight pain in his chest that's preventing him from standing up and moving around too much, a sense of approaching doom and the inability to make sounds. Apart from that he's not feeling particularly ill, but he's completely unable to speak and he doesn't know why.  
  
Olli comes in while they're discussing this, and while he doesn't ask any questions about what's going on, he stares absolutely horrified at the man and the scribbled reply that he's given them. "What does this all mean," he asks to no one in particular. "how can this be possible?"  
  
"This isn't just a sore throat or anything, right?" Richard asks hoarsely, rubbing his forehead. "we have been overdoing it the past few weeks, maybe you're just - just overworked-"  
  
Till scribbles his reply at this, looking a little indignant. _I'm not overworked!_ It would be somewhat amusing to see them both bickering in this way had it been under any other circumstances, and Richard can at least take some comfort in the fact that his friend is just as mentally sound and sharp as ever, but it doesn't solve the problem. Schneider gazes at the scene with a dismayed look, holding his head.  
  
"Well, Till's definitely not doing this on purpose," he says. "he's been like this all morning?"  
  
"I literally woke up about two hours ago and he couldn't speak. We all talked to each other last night, remember? And now his voice is just _gone_."  
  
"I remember all too well," the drummer replies, looking up again. "that's partly why I can't exactly grasp this situation properly. Forget speaking for a moment; can you make no sound at all, Till?"  
  
The man looks down as if ashamed. He looks kind of like a oversized puppy that's been scolded, and it would be sort of adorable if it wasn't so tragic. "We've got an upcoming concert," Flake says hoarsely, and the implications of this statement crash down on the rest of the band. "in about two weeks. If it isn't just a... just a one-time thing, then what the hell do we do?"  
  
"Goddamn it, Flake. Don't say that. It's not even two weeks, sixteen days, more like - what makes you think that he won't recover by then?"  
  
But the damage has been done and not even Paul seems convinced by his own logic. They simply look helplessly at the singer and at each other, for once having completely lost the will to fight amongst themselves. This is beyond arguing or blaming each other, when they don't know what's caused this in the first place, and when they're so close to a concert it simply doesn't bear thinking about. It might not be a whole tour, just a small stint to truly solidify their comeback - but now disaster's struck the one person who's crucial to the entire operation. Till's lips tremble in response, but there is nothing there; he's completely out of it as far as things are concerned and that's how it's going to be for a while. For maybe a longer while than any of them, including Till himself, are comfortable with.  
  
Olli buries his head in his hands. " _Mein Gott_ ," he whispers, and he actually sounds as if he's about to burst into tears. It sums up what they all feel about the situation perfectly.  
  
\-----  
  
Once the initial bout of panic is over, the entire band decides to take the day off and just calm down. Worrying isn't going to solve anything and it's certainly not going to help Till; when asked if he wants to see a doctor, he responds in the negative. "Are you sure?" is followed by an affirmation of what he said. Richard stays by him for the entire day, tending to him at certain points, but they mostly try to keep up some sense of normalcy. Till himself appears to prefer it that way as well, and that helps them think that perhaps this is just a temporary symptom resulting from being tired or overworked. After all, voice loss and strain is not unusual amongst singers. It was bound to happen to Till sometime. The guitarist does make sure that the man goes to bed after a hot cup of lemon tea, though, and feels profoundly strange for looking after his friend in such a way, although he's certainly not ashamed of it.  
  
But the next day brings no more luck, and that's the true point of concern. Till looks more tormented than before if anything, and watching him struggle is just as torturous for the rest of the band. Olli catches him frantically trying to muster a few words and failing miserably when he lurches over and clutches at his chest instead. They bring in a doctor that day against the singer's wishes who listens to Till's chest and checks his throat, suspecting vocal cord nodules or paralysis. But he doesn't actually detect any problem whatsoever, much to their confusion and dismay; he tells them to drop in after a few more days if there is no improvement, saying that it is perhaps too early to give a diagnosis. He departs with the final piece of advice that perhaps the band members are better off leaving Till be for a while. This is getting more and more confusing by the second. Till writes down his thanks, but when the doctor leaves he slumps down on his chair and covers his face with both hands.  
  
"We don't know what to do, Till," Olli says, almost to himself rather than to the singer, while the rest of band stand by the doorway. "please tell us what you need. Tell us what you want us to do. We'll do our best."  
  
The older man lets his hands drop to his lap at this, but doesn't open his eyes - he has a disturbingly defeated expression on his face, and even the usually-cool Schneider actually starts biting his lip at how far Till has gone downhill already. A thick pause lingers in the air before he opens his eyes and reaches heavily towards the pen and paper; he writes down only one word. _Richard_.  
  
" _'Richard'_?" Olli reads, before glancing back at the bewildered guitarist. "looks like he wants to tell you something."  
  
"What could that be?" Richard asks out aloud, but he's strangely elated at the same time. "well, I guess we'll have a talk then... as best as we can, I mean."  
  
"You do that. Let's go."  
  
The rest of the band leaves them be and closes the door shut behind them. Feeling the need for additional security, the younger man also walks over and locks the door, tugging lightly on the handle and turning back. Till's watching his every move with a tired expression, and he swallows nervously, suddenly feeling self-conscious.  
  
"You said you wanted me for something?"  
  
A nod.  
  
Richard waits for him to write down a reply or otherwise find a way to communicate. It doesn't come for what seems like a very long time; the other man simply sits there, his eyes half-lidded and barely focused on the guitarist, but he eventually sits straight up and writes down something on paper. He gazes at what he's written, hesitating and nibbling the tip of the pen lightly as he usually does when he's thinking of the next line in a poem, and this familiar act lets Richard relax a little at least. It doesn't last long.  
  
"Can I see?" he asks gently. Till looks at him for a second, and back down at the paper - and without writing any more, suddenly hurls the pen across the room and tears the paper into pieces. Richard gasps at the unexpected violence and hurriedly steps back for a second, but then changes his mind and reaches for the pieces of paper, snatching them out of Till's hands before he can do more damage. While he's glad that Till hasn't stopped him, he genuinely feels quite terrified. The singer breaks things quite often, but he's never shown such disregard for anything he's _written_ , no matter how insignificant. "Till, don't! This isn't like you! What's wrong?"  
  
Till stalks out of the room, trying to slam the door open and fiddling angrily with the lock when he can't; Richard makes sure to give the pieces a look through and hastily shoves them into his pocket before following. The others have been waiting by the door, he can see (much to his annoyance), and they stare at Till with an unnerved expression as he storms into the kitchen.  
  
"Jesus," Paul breathes, nervously fiddling with a shirt button before noticing the guitarist by his side. "did you really piss him off or something? What happened?"  
  
"Knock it off," Richard mutters, and follows Till into the kitchen. He finds the older man searching for something, almost tearing the cupboard doors off their hinges in his frenzy, and guesses that he's after liquor. Which would be the usual thing, except that they're out of liquor for the moment because Richard stopped Paul and Flake from getting some. _Sorry about that_ , he thinks to himself before he approaches the singer and puts a hand on his arm. "there isn't any alcohol in the flat at the moment. Calm down. I didn't mean to anger you, I honestly didn't."  
  
The other's scowl suddenly falters into a defeated look, and he sighs before pushing past Richard and back into his room. None of the others are in the living room now, having wisely decided to keep away for the time being to avoid Till's wrath - he might be silent, but he's still capable of being a dangerous man when angered. The guitarist rather suspects that they've withdrawn into Paul's room, which is the one next to Till's, and are still very much listening to what's going on, but he can't really care about that at the moment. He takes out the pieces of paper and lays them out on the counter, leaning over them and frowning as he tries to figure out how they fit together. It takes him a minute, but he finally rearranges them to the right form and scans the page, reading the words written on it.  
  
 _Words have deserted me._  
  
He reads this sentence over and over again, frowning. It's certainly true that speech has deserted him, that much doesn't even need elaboration, but Richard knows that there must be much more lurking beneath the seemingly obvious statement because Till is not that one-dimensional. It's best to ask the man himself, he decides, but he can't help hesitating when he looks at the door to Till's room - the older man could be in there breaking something for all he knows and he wouldn't be able to do anything about it except for getting out of the way. But his concern for the older man wins over, and he tucks the paper back into his pocket before walking over to Till's room and giving the door a few knocks.  
  
"I'm coming in."  
  
Richard knows that if the older man would block the door with a chair or even his own body if he really didn't want to be seen, speaking be damned. None of those things happen when he pushes open the door, so he goes in and shuts the door behind him, enveloping both he and Till in darkness.  
  
The room is still clean and doesn't seem as if it's been trashed in any way, and nothing is broken. But Till is sitting on the armchair with his face buried in his hands, the notepad and pen lying ominously on the small coffee table next to him, the page full of crossed-out words and frantic scribblings. Richard approaches him and sits down on the left arm of the chair, not sure where else to go. The singer doesn't look up, but doesn't push him off either.  
  
"I pieced that page back together," Richard says. Till's head snaps up and he stares at the guitarist. "I guessed that there's more to it than... well, than what's going on right now. Am I right?"  
  
The singer stares at him for a little longer, but he doesn't seem angry. He eventually gestures with his head towards the notepad, making no further motion to write anything down; the younger man is no stranger to Till being enigmatic, so he obliges and leans over to look at the sheets of paper to see if there are any clues. The scribbles don't tell him anything particularly interesting, nor do they at any point merge to make a coherent sentence or anything that Richard could derive a meaning from. But Till keeps looking at him with a near-hopeful expression and this spurs Richard on until the pieces finally fall into place.  
  
"Talking is the least of your problems," the guitarist speaks up, reaching out for the topmost sheet of paper and tearing it off the notepad. "you mean... you've lost the ability to _express_ yourself. You can't write anything."  
  
It's not a question, rather a series of statements, but Till nods grimly in response. Richard bites his lower lip as he stares at the sheet of paper; the image of Till trying desperately to produce some creative output to make up for his condition and failing miserably suddenly rises far too clearly in his mind for comfort. He can't imagine what the man must be feeling - what is Till without his poetry, his muse?  
  
A friend who needs to be comforted, first and foremost.  
  
"The concert isn't far off," Richard says quietly, staring at the wall. He can feel Till's gaze boring into him but forces himself to look ahead because this needs to be said. "there's no use trying to pretend that it's not going to happen. I think the others are trying to ignore it as much as possible so that it won't stress you out, but what use is it when you'll still worry about it all along? I know what you're like."  
  
He pauses and waits, wondering if he's come off as too callous. But the older man is stronger than that, and the statement seems to have rung true with him from the way he keeps looking into the guitarist's face, searching and waiting for him to say more. "I want to help, I really do. But how can I, when neither of us know what's going on? I'm not blaming you, Till. But I..." Richard hesitates for a second or two before resuming his talk. "I... miss your voice. Which is stupid, I know, it's not even as if I've never gone without hearing you every day in the past years. Remember when you didn't have a phone? I certainly didn't hear you for weeks back then. And whenever I or one of the other guys piss you off you don't talk to us. But this is different and I don't know what to do. Not a single one of us does. This isn't even about the damn concert, what's the point when without you Rammstein doesn't mean anything. I'd give anything to hear your laugh or even yell at me for being an idiot."  
  
He stops there and lets the heavy, uncomfortable silence fall between them. It strikes him that for the first time in many years, Till is at a far more vulnerable position than he; he could spill out his confused feelings right now and the man would have to just sit there and listen. If any kind of confession along those lines made Till angry, it might snap him out of all of this and force him to speak out in indignation, and while Richard might be left sad and heartbroken that could only be a good thing. But he doesn't have the heart to try it, not when the older man is so far removed from him that he doubts that Till will be able to comprehend it at all.  
  
The singer's gaze has faltered to the ground; he looks at Till before grasping him in an embrace. It's an awkward position to be in - he's kind of hugging the older man sideways because of where he's sitting, but he wouldn't move for the world when he has the other's face buried in his chest and can feel his warm breath against his shirt. Till leans into the embrace limply but doesn't return it, and Richard feels the sensation of a considerable weight crashing down in his heart. It only hits him then that Till _really_ can't respond to anyone; he's become shut off from outside stimulus altogether. The guitarist runs his fingers through the other's hair, noticing that even that feels lifeless compared to just a few days ago, before he puts both of his hands by the side of the other's face and lifts it up.  
  
"Please say something," Richard pleads, even though he knows that the other can't help it. "don't do this to us. _Please._ "  
  
The singer's looking in his direction without really seeing him, just like he does onstage, and that makes Richard unbearably sad.  
  
"Nothing else matters. _I_ need you. More than ever," he whispers as he strokes the other's face, wanting to get through to him. "come back to me, Till."  
  
But Till's eyes are dull and dark and he can no longer find any answers in them.  
  
\-----  
  
Olli and Paul are back in the living room and discussing their situation in shushed voices when Richard comes out of Till's room and tiredly shuts the door. The sound alerts them both to the guitarist, and they beckon to him, silently inquiring as to what is going on. "It's not good," he states flatly, and their expressions become more dismayed.  
  
"Is he asleep?" Richard nods in response. Paul leans back and rubs his forehead, frowning lightly. "I guess that's better than him being awake and angry. What was he so furious about, anyway?"  
  
"He wanted a drink. We don't have any though. It's my fault that you and Flake couldn't bring any back yesterday - I felt absolutely terrible, you don't even know."  
  
"What's this?" Flake pops his head out from the kitchen, followed by Schneider doing the same. "oh, the liquor?"  
  
"Shhh," Paul gestures frantically at the door. "not so loud, Flake!"  
  
Richard observes the scene before him and is surprised at how _not_ annoying he finds this. Any other time, even the littlest of bickering amongst them would have had him reaching for a cigarette and mindlessly hating everyone for a few minutes - now it's simply a sign of unity, because for once they're actually pursuing the same objectives. Flake leaves the kitchen with a glass of water in hand, assuring them that he'll go and buy some liquor when morning comes and that the alcohol on the top half of the fridge will be for Till's consumption only. If Till has his own supply of drink that no one else can touch, that will probably cheer him up slightly if nothing else; Flake knows almost as much as Richard does about the man, and quite likely understands him better, which still kind of makes the guitarist feel upset when he thinks about it. Quite petty, really. He's not sure if he's ever going to get over this, which is yet another layer of irrational altogether.  
  
"Was he up to eating anything?" Schneider asks quietly, throwing a worried gaze towards Till's door. Richard shakes his head; the drummer looks a little disheartened, but nevertheless picks up a tray from the table that has a covered slice of chocolate cake, two apples, and a thermos filled with coffee on it. He scribbles out a note to the singer before walking over with the tray, placing it just by the side of the doorway and sliding the note beneath the door. Richard watches this and suddenly feels a knot tighten in his chest - Till and Schneider's always had a little rivalry going on ever since the band got together. Schneider was Till's replacement, after all, and one who suits drumming far better than the latter ever did. They've always been friendly with each other, but Till has even admitted out loud that he does a lot to piss the younger man off rather more often than would be necessary and vice versa. Seeing the drummer completely disregarding all of this now is somewhat noble and at the same time quite sad. It's as if their previous conflicts never existed in the first place.  
  
While he watches this he feels a hand on his shoulder; it's Flake, who merely gazes at him silently and nods to convey his understanding. this simple act settles his mind a little.  
  
"Perhaps you should sit down and relax for a bit. You look insanely tired," Olli tells him. Richard looks over at the mirror on the wall and sees that the bassist is right; he looks gaunt and nearly out of his mind with worry. Certainly not the beauty of Rammstein that he's known for being. He shakes his head, disgusted with himself, and gets out the final cigarette from a crumpled pack in his pocket. "the hell are you smoking for, Risch."  
  
"The hell _aren't_ you smoking for," he snaps back, but regrets saying it almost instantly. " _damn._ Ignore what I just said, Olli. That was ridiculous. Immature. I'm not thinking properly, I didn't mean it."  
  
The bassist doesn't look offended; Richard being moody is nothing new at this point, but the concern in his face has become more obvious. It's Flake who frowns at the guitarist. "We're all worried about Till. No need to bite anyone's head off."  
  
Richard decides that he does kind of deserve it, and holds back a fierce retort, instead going for a muttered "Christ, Flake, don't I know that," before fumbling around for a lighter and cursing when he finds that he doesn't have one. Flake taps him on the shoulder and Richard spins around to find that the other has an open lighter. Surprised, he nevertheless takes up on the offer.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"It's no problem at all. Shame that it was your last, because I could certainly use a smoke as well," the keyboardist says as Schneider comes back; without even needing to elaborate, the drummer immediately fishes out his own pack of cigarettes and tosses it to Flake. "ah, Doom. Always equipped for everything. _Vielen Dank._ "  
  
"That was quite neat," Paul comments, gazing at them with a rather disbelieving look. "how did you guys just happen to have what the other guy you were talking to needed?"  
  
"We are in the same band," Schneider says. "and have been for a very long time. Six hearts burning as one. We all complete each other, no matter what happens. Don't even need to involve Till to see that," he then lets out a strange chuckle, sounding like a mix between a hysterical laugh and a sob, before collapsing next to the bassist and covering his face. Olli looks startled - the drummer isn't known for being like this at all - but quickly (if a little awkwardly) puts his arms around him in an attempt to comfort.  
  
"Calm down, it's not the end of everything. Don't you start now," but there is no malice in Olli's tone, and he almost looks as if he's about to cry himself.  
  
"I know it's not," Schneider murmurs before raising his head and gazing at all of them. "but I looked things up... apparently voice paralysis might last up to a year..."  
  
Richard nearly drops his cigarette. " _Shit._ Are you serious?"  
  
The drummer nods miserably. "Would I lie about something like that? When we've got that concert coming up - no, forget the concert, that doesn't even matter when we've got up to a year to think about. And if it doesn't improve afterwards, then it might end up being a permanent thing."  
  
"We don't know that it's paralysis, though," Flake says. "you heard what the doctor said. No problem detected at all. Paralysis doesn't just set in because it feels like it."  
  
They all fall silent as they think over this information; Richard stubs out his cigarette, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. He agrees with Flake, but whatever it might be, the irrefutable truth is that Till's voice and creativity _have_ disappeared. They can't argue with that, and if they want to achieve anything they're going to have to work with it.  
  
"What bothers me is that it had to be Till," Paul finally speaks up, letting out a heavy sigh. "I mean, look at me. Rammstein can manage without a rhythm guitarist for one single concert, I can be replaced or left out temporarily-"  
  
"-and I can be replaced if need be," Olli also nods. "it's no big deal, for just one night. I get what you mean, Paul. Till is - just that _one person_ who simply can't be replaced under any circumstances."  
  
"Rammstein doesn't work without his voice. I'd rather leave altogether than see Till replaced," Schneider says tearfully. "I want to keep to that promise we made, way back then. And for the record, _I_ don't agree that any of you guys are replaceable, I can't even begin to imagine a gig with just one of us missing anymore. I just... I never thought we'd ever have to think of this possibility, for anything other than age..."  
  
"Maybe there's no sense in thinking about it now," Richard says as firmly as possible, even though his mind is also on overdrive. "there's no need to overreact to anything. I don't think Till would want it either."  
  
"I go by what Risch said," the keyboardist adds, giving the younger guitarist a nod. "we'll give him time."  
  
 _How much time exactly, though?_ That question lingers in Richard's mind, and he can see that everyone is thinking the same - not even the keyboardist is exempt. But they can't focus on that now. They need to keep what little peace they've left so that they can keep themselves from falling apart. If they keep certain things to themselves so that Till can have all the time he needs, it should be worth it in the end. But when even two days without the man's voice feels like an eternity, he can see that it's going to be a difficult task.  
  
\-----  
  
No one's up to staying up any later than that, even though it's just gone past eight. The house is dark and Richard is lying on his bed, only a desk lamp brightening the room and his eyes closed tight in concentration. A flat, silver-coloured CD player rests next to him, the earphone wires tangled up messily beside it; the larger one that he used to have broke a few months back, and while he could have invested in an MP3 player, he still prefers CDs. (He stashed the old one in the attic out of fondness even though it was beyond repairing.) Call him old-fashioned, but that's just how it is. He's not listening to anything, though, too busy trying to focus on other things.  
  
Richard's room is right next door to Till's. He's been pressing his ear to the wall for over an hour, knowing that his bed and Till's are separated only by that wall and longing to hear something, anything from him. It's a thin wall even for flat standards, he can quite often hear Till humming or speaking or even coughing through it very clearly. Could, anyway. Now Till can't do any of those things, and from what he's gathered over the past hour, his breathing isn't loud enough to carry through the wall either. Richard curls up and clutches at his CD player, trying not to let despair get the best of him and to get a grip on himself.  
  
His shaking hands reach out to the bedside drawer and rummages around before taking out a CD case. He doesn't even need to look to see what CD it is, he can simply feel it from the worn grooves and scratches engraved on the case, indicating how many times he's listened to it in the past. Keeping his eyes firmly shut, he snaps open the case, takes out the CD and pops it in the CD player; he then feels for the earbuds and awkwardly puts them on without bothering to unentangle the cords or even figure out which side is right and which is left. Pressing 'play' results in the familiar brief intro of drums and ominous chords, but he simply isn't interested in anything other than one particular song at the moment. He skips through every song before getting to the penultimate track and letting it play.  
  
Till's surprisingly-soft baritone startles him to such an extent that Richard actually tenses up when he hears it. He's never thought about this particular song very much, except for thinking that it is one of the most honest songs that the singer has ever written, but he hasn't listened to Till's voice in two days and suddenly being exposed to it feels both right and absolutely heartbreaking.  
  
 _"Und der Wald er steht so schwarz und leer-"_  
  
Despite the lyrics, the first thing that comes to Richard's mind is not the image of a forest; rather, it is of a lone tent in a desolate, snow-covered wasteland, straight out of the music video for this song. Nearly every video they've ever made have been strange and disturbing videos, so that one had seemed tame by comparison, even when they'd quite happily agreed to the storyboarding and had acted it all out. But even back then, when he saw the finished result, Till's absolutely beautiful and peaceful _dying_ face at the end had hit him so hard that he had actively avoided watching the video again for a few weeks.  
  
 _"Ohne dich kann ich nicht sein, ohne dich..."_  
  
His voice in this song is considerably higher, lighter than his usual tone but at the same time weighed down with a sense of sorrow and what might be memento mori. It's admittedly not much like Till's speaking voice, but to hell with that for the time being because it's still him and this is what Richard wanted to listen to in the first place. He can't handle anything heavier at the moment. For the first time in ages he listens to one of their songs for the simple sake of listening, not to try to work out meanings hidden in it, and it fills him with so many different emotions that the guitarist doesn't know what to do about it. From past experience he knows that pointless angsting won't help, so he simply lies there, opening his eyes and forcing himself to stare straight up at the ceiling and not at the wall so that he won't envision Till behind it.  
  
 _"Ohne dich zähl ich die Stunden, ohne dich... Mit dir stehen die Sekunden, lohnen nicht..."_  
  
As the song plays on, the memory of Till's face floats back into his mind and Richard can't help but shudder. Of course he's being ridiculous. He's acting like Till's actually died or something, and of course he isn't _dead_. Even if he never made another sound again, he is still very much alive and perfectly functional and Richard doesn't need any proof of that when the man is sleeping right next door. He wonders if anyone else in the house is asleep now, or collectively tossing and turning in their beds, going out of their minds with worry. Till's kept quiet out of spite before, but just because it happened many times before doesn't mean that it lessens the blow any.  
  
 _"Und das Atmen fällt mir - ach, so schwer..."_  
  
 _Well, think of it this way - Till always did sound better when he voluntarily kept quiet for a few days or so. It'll be one hell of a voice he'll have when he recovers. If he ever does._  
  
 _"Weh mir - oh weh..."_  
  
But it's not just the voice. Losing all ways to properly express himself has taken the soul out of Till already, and if it goes on any further it'll kill him. Writing and singing's what Till's depended on for survival for all those years, and by now it's so deeply integrated into his lifestyle that if words have actually deserted him, he won't be able to go on. No one knows that better than the younger man. Death by writer's block. Whimsical yet such a terrible possibility.  
  
 _"-und die Vögel singen nicht mehr!"_  
  
He can't listen any more. His fingers tighten around the cord as the chorus kicks in, wanting to tug it out and throw it across the room so that he won't be tormented by Till's (utterly agonizing) voice any longer. He never should have done this in the first place, not when he already knows Till as an unintentional siren of sorts, luring him further into combined lust and adoration and anguish with everything he does. But he can't be blamed either, all he wanted to do was to hear Till. Besides, if he stopped now, what has he left to listen to except for the oppressive silence next door? Richard finds that he has no will to actually do anything about the music; their songs are the only thing he can find solace in, so he might as well get used to it for a while, seeing as he can no longer just waltz in and start up a conversation with the man.  
  
Blearily opening his eyes, Richard reaches out again towards the chest of drawers and this time retrieves his notebook from top of it. All of them have taken to carrying around one or two, though only Olli and Flake write regularly in them. Till is the only one who strictly keeps to specific types of writing, only noting down snatches of lyrics, poems or even little observations that he wants to keep around for a long time. He's probably filled up enough to fill entire shelves by this point. The rest of them do similar things, noting down things that might be of use to the band, but things like mini-journals, lists of restaurants and reservation details do find their way into their notebooks.  
  
Richard flicks through his own. Lyrics and drafts, mostly for Emigrate, make up the first twenty pages. The rest are scribbles that aren't related to his band activity, nothing of much significance. He pulls out the pen that he keeps in the wire-bound spine of the notebook and starts a new page, noting down the current date along with the previous day's, not sure what he's wanting to achieve but at the same time hurting too much to not keep it on record. Perhaps writing it down, as matter-of-factly as possible, will give it some semblance of reality.  
  
 _"Lohnen nicht..."  
  
Till Lindemann has been silent for two days as of 21st Jan 2008, Monday evening...  
  
"Ohne... dich..."_  
  
And reality is a brutal customer. It amazes him how forty-two years, a divorce and continuous heartaches have made his acquaintance since birth and he still hasn't learnt a damn thing.  
  
\-----  
  
A week passes by from that day, and Rammstein has never been without a singer for this long before. Any hopes of getting Till's voice back in time seems slim now, with only another week left before their gig. It's no big deal, they can technically cancel the concert, and none of them can even think of caring that much about it with Till's entire position at stake. Considering that they don't like cancelling concerts and disappointing their fans, this is not very respectable conduct; but there's no way to force a man who's been nigh mute for over a week to sing in front of a crowd, and that's really the most important thing. The most important thing that they can no longer ignore.  
  
"We're going to have to pull out," Olli finally says during breakfast. "there's no alternative. Rehearsal's in four days' time - we'll have to tell them to call it off."  
  
"Yes," Paul answers, glancing at Till, who is listening to their conversation in rapt attention. "perhaps we should."  
  
Flake tries to speak but is stopped by the singer's firm strong hand gripping his wrist. Richard watches and feels a slight twinge of jealousy arise inside him, before he scowls and admonishes himself for not focusing on the main issue. "Till? Yes?"  
  
Till reaches over to the table and grabs a notepad and pen, tearing the cap off with his teeth and frantically jotting down a few words before throwing the pad in front of the five. They lean down to read the words written on it with some confusion and disbelief.  
  
 _Let me go to the rehearsal._  
  
Richard looks up. "Till, you've not spoken a single word for over a week. How can you sing in front of a crowd? It'd be a different matter if you lip-synced, but-"  
  
The older man frowns and shakes his head, looking disgusted with the very idea. This is a familiar sight and at least lightens their mood, although not by a significant amount. There is something steely in his eyes that hint at his resolve and they all know that he's not about to give up on this issue. He'd walk - no, _crawl_ all the way to the practice if he had to, even though it will take him hours.  
  
"Let him," Flake says quietly.  
  
"But-"  
  
"Till has something in mind. He's never let us down before. Besides, if he can't perform, it's going to come out in the open whether we let him or not. Just one time will be enough."  
  
Blunt and to-the-point, as is the normal thing for Flake now. Till nods at him gratefully, affirming his feelings towards the situation. Before any of them can argue, Flake leaves the room for a smoke; Till also stands up, although he instead goes to his own room, locking the door behind him. Paul, Schneider, Richard and Olli watch silently and then put their heads together.  
  
"Till isn't going to make it," Olli says resignedly. "we just - haven't got enough time."  
  
"Olli, if you're insinuating in any way that he's not going to recover-"  
  
Paul holds up his hand. "Don't get worked up, Risch. Olli is right. I doubt he'll be able to perform right now."  
  
"Well, Flake had a good point. Let's give Till a chance. If he can't perform then we'll probably be pulled out of the arrangement altogether," says Schneider, standing up. "it might actually be easier than explaining. Then at least we can walk out together with our heads held high."  
  
That is the end of the conversation. Of course none of them are comfortable with it, not even Till himself; he barely touches his food during dinner and gets up early. He's been hiding himself away a lot nowadays. But this time he goes to his room without closing the door and lies down on the bed in full view of the others, staring up at the ceiling. It really begs the question as to whether Till is doing this just to mess with his bandmates; at least Richard sees it that way. It wouldn't be entirely out of character for him. He's equally frustrated and enamored with this Till - he's bordering on downright unresponsive, only saving the pen and paper for dire situations and no casual conversations, but because of this the guitarist can see that the older man is developing his other senses and abilities to make up for the lack of speech, He seems to be a better listener than ever, and while he does conceal himself a lot, it's not long before he comes back out and sits there paying attention to them. As strange as it is, this is the first time in months - _years_ \- that the band has actually been this closely bonded, too busy thinking of Till first to hold onto their personal resentment against whomever. They've mostly gotten over the uneasiness that comes with Till's sudden silence, and they have found it easier to discuss things and resolve their differences as a result of it. They've actually gotten better at it compared to how it used to be before Till stopped talking. All this is yet another different side to the man and one that would actually be quite attractive if he weren't the _goddamn vocals for the band._ When dinner's finished, Richard takes up a new pack of cigarettes and his lighter and leaves the flat, wanting to smoke his worries away.  
  
"... Doom?"  
  
Schneider is sitting outside the door, head held in his hands and an empty bottle of gin sitting next to him. "What are you drinking for?"  
  
"I'm not drunk," comes the muffled reply. "I know my limits, Risch. I'll drink all I bloody want. With all that's happened, you can't blame me."  
  
Richard is silent for a moment as he gazes at the other's form. He's struggling with two mixed emotions for Schneider; what the drummer's said is uncomfortably reminiscent of what Richard himself used to be like in the earlier days of his divorce and any time he became depressed, and he really doesn't like being reminded of it. But at the same time, he is right, things have been quite bad recently and how can he be faulted for drinking when the dreadful possibilities of the rehearsal is looming over them? Barring Richard himself, Schneider has also been the one who's looked the most depressed about the entire situation out of all of them for some unknown reason. He settles himself down next to the drummer and touches his shoulder, feeling the other tense up a little. "But I don't. I never have, Doom."  
  
"Good. It's bad enough that I blame myself."  
  
Richard does a double take, taking his hand off the other's shoulder, but he's not the one who ends up posing the question. Without warning Paul's stunned voice calls from behind them: "... I beg your pardon?"  
  
The two turn to see that Paul and Olli are standing in the doorway, both wearing similar expressions of disbelief. "But how does that even _work?_ " the bassist adds to Paul's words as he sits down in front of Schneider, scrutinizing his expression closely.  
  
"Great," Schneider groans and buries his head deeper into his knees. "thanks a lot, Risch. Leave everyone to ask me why I'm so miserable."  
  
The guitarist stares at him, not sure how to deal with this situation; Schneider has never been like this in all their years of playing together. They've argued lots, he's gotten angry or sad a few times, but there was no transition to downright depression at any point like Till or Richard himself. He's not sure if he can deal with a _third_ depressed bandmate. "It's not just you, Doom. Everyone is. You think we don't see the storm coming when it's just days away? You were in agreement with Flake about the whole thing too, don't tell me you've had a change of heart-"  
  
"Oh no," the drummer picks up the empty bottle and looks at it before putting it back down and letting out another groan. "no, that's not why I'm miserable at all. I still am going to see him there, wild horses couldn't stop me from protecting him from any backlash we might get. You've all got the wrong idea there."  
  
Paul frowns and kneels down next to him. "So why? We're in good shape, Till is too - mostly - and if he can't perform, so what. We walk out with him. Their loss if they turn on us for it."  
  
Schneider looks up wearily, frown lines marring his otherwise-smooth face and making him look as if he's aged five years in less than a minute. "But I can't _stand_ it," he whispers, his voice hoarse and dry. "Till doesn't feel like _Till_ without his voice. You can't blame me for feeling lost, he's our leader... he's always been the one who provides us with a direction to go when we're not sure what to do. Now it feels like he's gone and left behind a withered husk. This isn't just him sulking, you can all see that, right? I can't even face him, it's gone on for over a week and I can't turn a blind eye to it anymore. No, that's not right, I couldn't from the start. And that makes me feel - weak. Unworthy. Like, I've been his bandmate for thirteen years and I don't even know what I can do for him. How foolish of me is that? I can see that he's _hurting_ , this might as well be hell for him and... and what if this is all my fault, I've been so hard on him in recent times, I've even shouted at him-"  
  
"Now you're being ridiculous," Paul tells him, although he too looks like he's having a hard time holding himself together. "why would that be your fault? Come on, you and Till might have had a few rifts now and then - but who hasn't in this band? He's always been so good to you and you've done the same for him. As for helplessness, we're all feeling the exact same thing."  
  
"Thing is, though, I've never really been able to figure out if he ever grew to like me as well as he likes, oh I don't know, Flake or Risch or anyone else. He's always called me _Schneider._ Not Doom. Over a decade together and he's never dropped that formality with me. I never understood why, maybe he never liked-"  
  
"What the - Doom, that's just silly," Olli says, shaking his head. "he got past the _'Sie'_ and _'du'_ barrier with you within a year, isn't that proof that he wants you close by? It took me and Risch at least two. Even longer for me to drop the _'Sie'_ with him, what with Till being much older and all. You might as well say that I made Till lose his voice because I told him that one set of his lyrics were much better than the other three weeks ago. It doesn't make any sense."  
  
"Or that it was my fault for actually having a full-blown fight with him around the same time," Paul adds before his expression suddenly falters into a sad and regretful look. "... it might as well have been, really. Wow. I... I'm an asshole. I've not been very patient towards Till in the past months, come to think of it. Too busy blaming his depression and general apathy towards life for everything, I just... I wouldn't be surprised if he just got sick of talking because of all the horrible things going on in his life, and I probably didn't help any."  
  
 _What if it's my fault too?_ Richard thinks to himself, even though he of course can't let it on to the others. _My fault for... for... what? For being in lust with him? For the time I spent in Emigrate? I have no idea, but I'm the closest to him, at least I'd like to think that was the case, and surely something I did could have-_  
  
"Look, if it was the fault of _anyone_ in the band, which I doubt it is, all of us share that blame. Till hasn't been a saint to us, but neither have we to him and each other. That's the end of it," Olli pauses there, biting his lower lip before hastily dabbing at his eyes. "... we're going to get Till's voice back, because while he might be a mute bastard, he's _our_ mute bastard and we're not giving up. Not even if we need to take another break, not even if we end up having to break up completely because I won't let him go under. And I know none of you want that either. That's clear enough to all, right?"  
  
Schneider ducks his head, but he does murmur a small 'I know' which is heard by all. The older guitarist sighs and puts an arm around him an attempt to comfort, followed suit by Olli (who nods towards Richard to join in), and the four of them just quietly sit there in their mutual attempts at comfort. But when Richard raises his head, he sees Till watching them from the doorway - unbeknownst to everyone else. He's standing there awkwardly, the expression on his face truly one of sorrow and self-loathing as he watches his bandmates; the guitarist doesn't want to admit it to himself but then their gaze locks in midair and he knows that Till heard everything. Slowly the older man turns away and slips back inside, his shoulders hunched and leaving Richard's heart to ache alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if anyone noticed but so far Till is the only band member to have consistently used 'Schneider' instead of 'Doom'. I've also given Schneider a subconscious sort of complex that seeks Till's praise for the littlest things after basically being his replacement on drums. He suits the job much better, too! This was what it was building up to; it's that sense of mutual approval.
> 
> 21st Jan 2008 was a Monday all right. The next chapter will also have accurate dates and periods. It doesn't achieve anything story-wise to have real life dates but I'm a real stickler for weird things like that.
> 
> I should start publishing the side stories I've written for 'Silence'. And seeing as this site allows the series feature it should be easier. But what the hell do I call the series itself? x.x Decisions!


	7. '... Ich weiß...'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: I do not know any of the members of Rammstein; this is strictly a work of fiction that does not intend to profit nor present its portrayal of the band's lives as fact.**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> This is the third-to-last chapter and hoo boy the story suddenly moves at breakneck pace. This kind of pacng made at least 30% more sense back in the days when I thought I could resolve everything in this story with four or so parts. Not sure whether it works now, but there's quite a lot going on. 
> 
> Dates and things like Till's love for mariachi are accurate. Other things... well, aren't really, but it is taking into account the suspension of disbelief and the general line between fact and fiction. Read on. I'll explain a bit more at the end notes.

**Silence (Chapter 7 of 9) -** _'... Ich weiß...'_  
  
\-----------  
  
Till carries on not talking while the rest of the band carry on practicing their instruments. There are no vocals provided to balance them out, but they can at least try to improve their skills while they're at it. Might as well; they're all resigned to the thought that Till isn't going to come around until after the concert, although they don't say it out loud. They've trusted the older man far too long for that, and this courtesy is the least they can give him at this state. At least it's just the rehearsal and it's also a Sunday, so only about half of the crew will turn up - it's not going to be a huge-scale disaster.  
  
It's the day before the rehearsal is due to take place; the clock is showing seven-fifty in the evening and Till has locked himself back in his room for an early night. They all know that he'll be out and about in the odd hours of the morning, though, getting some sustenance and maybe having a drink or two. Out of concern for his privacy, they don't want to intervene, but at the same time they want to make it easier on him as well. The thought of Till cooking something in his painful solitude, in the middle of the night with only darkness and silence for company, is too melancholy a thought for them. Paul volunteers giving the man a bottle of good wine, Olli agrees, and they leave together to buy a few things so that they can provide Till and themselves with a hearty meal. They all need it.  
  
"I'll make dessert," Flake says as he rises and heads to the kitchen. "I haven't baked in a while, but he could probably do with a bit of cake. Everyone likes cake. Win-win situation there."  
  
"I want to help," Schneider volunteers immediately, springing to his feet and rolling up his sleeves, a determined light in his eyes. He's still beating himself up for Till's condition, and Richard can see that he'll gladly jump at any potential chance to make things a little better for the singer. "the poor bastard's been through enough..."  
  
"Sure you can. What should we make, though? I'm thinking of a Black Forest Cake myself - is that his favourite? I know _someone_ in the band loves it best."  
  
The drummer shakes his head. "No, not for Till. I'm sure that's Risch's favourite," he turns to Richard. "is that right?"  
  
"Oh yeah. I like the cherries."  
  
"There you go. I think Till's favourite is _Prinzregententorte_."  
  
Flake nods at them both gratefully. "Well, that certainly clears things up. _Danke_. Though I must say, that's _very_ specific knowledge you have there, Doom..."  
  
"It's the only cake he wants to buy whenever we're around Bavaria. And when we're not in Bavaria, he goes around looking for similar things too. Seen him doing that for years," this makes sense, Schneider has a quite prolific sweet tooth and often does follow Till in their occasional excursions for cakes. "and really, I don't think he would have _minded_ the Black Forest Cake... Remember making that with Paul years ago?"  
  
"Oh yes," for the first time in ages, Flake manages a surprisingly fond smile at the memory. "I'd nearly forgotten. Probably the most important cake I made in my life until this point and I barely even got to finish it..."  
  
Richard doesn't know what to contribute to this assemblage. He sits by the kitchen table, contemplating his options - he'd quite like to write Till a letter, but he isn't sure if he'll do it well. He's got no desire to write huge incoherent paragraphs or just make do with a few lines, and isn't sure how to achieve a middle ground between that. He was never good with letters, that was always Till's field. Everyone else is giving Till food or drink though and he wants to make his contribution a little more personal. Finally he goes for the simplest and the most direct option that he can think of: he goes to his room, fetches his CD player, and puts a CD compilation of mariachi music in there that he places on the tray. Till's preferred warm-up routine for every concert or rehearsal includes him putting on about an hour or so's worth of mariachi music while he's getting ready, he's been doing that for quite some years now, and he's sure that the man will understand the underlying message: _I believe in you. Go get 'em._  
  
Two hours after they put the tray in front of Till's door and walk away, Flake sneaks back to look and reports back that it's not there anymore, that Till must have carried the tray back inside. Richard nods and hopes that his message was received; he leans back with his guitar in hand, strumming quietly as a last-minute additional practice session.  
  
 _"... Open surfaces,"_ he closes his eyes and remembers Till saying a long while back. _"that's why I love Hispanic culture... the warm-blooded rhythms that you can dance to, you know? And the women..."_  
  
 _Don't think about that now_ , Richard tells himself, and focuses on remembering their warm-up sessions. There have been so many of them that they're all just kind of merging together into one, but if those moments in life had a stock soundtrack, both he and Till (and only the two of them) would immediately understand it as mariachi.  
  
Yes, he remembers.  
  
\-----  
  
Till makes one more request just before the rehearsal, which is a plea for them to keep silent about his condition to the management and the concert crew; they simply nod and do as he asks, keeping their intense feeling of dread to themselves. All six of them are thus quiet and unusually nervous when they get on the bus to the rehearsal studio, prompting some of the roadies to comment on it. Till spends the entire time in his cubicle, but leaves it immediately when the bus stops and exits first, his expression calm and collected - but as reassuring as this is to the crew, it doesn't settle any of the other five's minds.  
  
They set up their instruments within the studio and get to tuning in silence; without their usual chatter, it takes much less time than it normally does, but they make the warm-up session last as long as possible while the singer's getting ready in another room. They're trying not to give Till away for as long as they can, they know to do that much without the need to discuss it. (Richard will realize that they were doing this subconsciously much later on in the day, heightening his opinion of the band by a significant margin.) Paul does a voice check on all the mics so that Till won't have to, noting that they're all working fine - this would be good any other day, mic failures during rehearsals are not an unknown thing, but it's all just leading up to the inevitable reveal. Richard is reminded of one line from their songs that sums their situation up perfectly and almost laughs at the sheer irony of it.  
  
 _('Weiter, weiter ins Verderben!')_  
  
He sometimes swears that Till is a prophet, except that this really shouldn't be at all funny or even _happening_ , for that matter.  
  
The singer comes in and takes up his position almost as if on cue when they're all satisfied that their instruments are tuned. He turns to the rest of the band and nods once, indicating that they should start with the first song in their planned setlist. Schneider hesitates for a second, looking _very_ ill at ease, but reluctantly launches into the intro and lets the others follow his head.  
  
In the increasing tension, Till stays absolutely still, not even moving to adjust the mic, his eyes closed in rapt attention. The instrumental opening is over and he opens his mouth -  
  
 _"... Kann... man... Herzen brechen...?"_  
  
\- and begins singing. his voice as deep, gorgeous and clear as if he did not spend the entire week and a half in pure silence.  
  
To say that the others are shocked would be an understatement. The instant the first word leaves Till's lips, Schneider stops playing and stares incredulously at him, and neither Paul nor Richard get past two chords. Olli and Flake don't appear to notice for a moment and keep playing the accompaniment for a few bars, the older man singing along smoothly, before they realize that they're the only ones playing and that Till has actually started _singing_ (in that order) and stop completely.  
  
"Till...!"  
  
The singer gives them with an odd look, gesturing with his head for them to keep on playing. Stunned, they hastily obey him and soon they're belting out 'Links 2, 3, 4' with passion and insanity bridled into one, just the way they like it whenever they perform that piece. That song segues to 'Sonne' as smoothly as ever, and whilst the band is all amazed at how well Till is keeping up - in fact it's beyond just keeping up, he's leading them better than ever with his voice - they don't question it yet. Something quite out of the ordinary is taking place and they're not about to ruin it by demanding that the man explain. The roadies and the rest of the crew watch on, pleased with the performance, unaware of what Till's been like for the past week. Except for that hiccup at the start, everything has been in order - and such incidents aren't uncommon during their rehearsals anyway, so this is simply another day to them. That's how it ought to be,  
  
After an hour and half, the rehearsal is finally over and the band members take Till aside, their faces still full of awe and shock. "However did you do that, Till," Paul yells, slapping him on the shoulder. "did you recover overnight or something? Will you be able to manage the concert?"  
  
Till nods; he looks very tired, but there is a slightly satisfied glow about him nonetheless.  
  
"Can you talk to us now?"  
  
But his reply is not the nod or the 'yes' that they've all been expecting. The older man opens his mouth, closes it again, and quietly excuses himself outside where he gets on the bus and into his own cubicle. Flake follows and tries knocking on the door but there is no reply; not even the sound of shuffling can be heard inside.  
  
"Any luck?" Richard asks anxiously when Flake comes back outside. The latter shakes his head and adjusts his glasses.  
  
"We have to take him to the doctor," he says.  
  
"It's a Sunday."  
  
"First thing tomorrow. Let's call up. Faux pas be damned."  
  
\-----  
  
They let Till go to bed when they get back, acknowledging that the man is quite likely exhausted, and discuss things over some dinner. It's a good thing that they know this particular doctor personally and he's a very understanding one; he has prioritized Till's case for Monday morning. With the kinds of things they get up to onstage and offstage, someone like that at hand is a blessing - he doesn't even blink anymore when he sees them with burns or cuts gained from their antics. But that day's events are something to ponder on, for sure. If it was never a problem with his vocal cords to begin with, then what problem could be so great that it's shut Till Lindemann away from the world? This is beyond just a self-loathing phase from him. But he did sing through the entire songlist, that's an irrefutable fact, and his voice hasn't degraded in the slightest.  
  
The discussion that night reaches such heights that the band members wonder by the end of it whether they were just collectively hallucinating the past two weeks. What aspect of that period exactly they were imagining, though, is debatable - Till losing his voice, or regaining it? "Maybe he didn't like the cake and just wanted to let us know?" Paul states helplessly and Richard isn't sure whether he wants to punch the man in the face or burst out laughing so he just shrugs and carries on trying to solve this mystery. This chain of thought is broken the very next day when they do another rehearsal (after the visit to the doctor), and Till again manages to perform admirably whilst still not saying a single word to any of the roadies or his bandmates. Most definitely not paralysis. But at the same time, it seems absurdly clear that the man isn't purposefully withholding speech from them, either - under persuasion that day, he does try to talk, and it becomes obvious enough soon afterwards that he still genuinely can't. Flake gently coaxes the man to try singing as well, but even that ability seems to disappear once he gets off stage. Considering Till's general phobia of performing, this is one development that nobody can get their heads around. Two days left before the concert, and while they are immeasurably relieved that the singer will be able to perform, their concern has only deepened in all other aspects.  
  
 _Till Lindemann has been silent for fourteen days as of 4th February 2008, Monday afternoon._  
  
Well, that's not entirely true. But Richard doesn't know how _else_ to word it, when singing has been the only thing Till's done so far to demonstrate that he's not gone completely mute altogether. None of the band members have been spoken to, and if anything he'd even say that Till is even _less_ communicative than before. He now uses small gestures and increasingly-laconic written phrases to talk to someone, and it's rare that he even resorts to those at all. Till makes his presence known by simply being there, listening and watching. It's very bizarre for sure.  
  
"Let's think in practical terms," Olli says. "at least we didn't have to cancel anything. We can relax after this... give him enough time to recover properly. There's our doctor too. So really, there's nothing to worry about - let's just get this over and done with."  
  
And the bassist being the logical and sensible person he is, he is right; the concert itself goes off smoothly. Dressed in his grenadier-style uniform and with dark makeup highlighting his eyelashes and his lips, along with having become a little thinner and paler during those two weeks, Till actually strikes a beautifully menacing figure reminiscent of their 'Reise, Reise' tour days when he gets on stage. Richard's breath catches in his throat when he sees the singer take his position near the mic, fiddling with it lightly to position it closer to his mouth; if not for the fact that he's seen the man in his severely depressed state for the past two weeks, he'd be utterly mesmerized and utterly fooled by the masculine charm that Till suddenly appears to be exuding. (He's never quite realized how handsome Till can be with black lipstick on, as weird as that sounds.) The audience certainly buys it, for sure. As he sings his way flawlessly through their many songs, Richard sees that everyone else in the band is just as nervous as he, waiting for the potential moment where they might slip up or Till might suddenly lose his voice again. Paul's shoulders are very tense for one, and he's not fooling around onstage as he usually does. Richard himself is trying to play every note with the utmost precision, so focused that his fingers feel completely numb around the guitar pick within five songs. But the singer never falters, he looks out in the direction of the audience as his voice rises and falls to the music, holding out his arms as if to embrace the crowd, his eyes wide and almost childlike in their gaze. Their unified support and tension has actually invoked a sense of seriousness within them; when the final note is sung and they all bow in gratitude, the arena bursts into applause and euphoric screams of 'encore!'. The band is back, with the hardest and most resolute sound to date, promising great things for the future. Only the younger guitarist still sees that behind Till's smile lies that hollow, blank emptiness that still hasn't dissipated since the start of his downward spiral. He's still not looking properly at his adoring fans, singing only to the lights and to the night stars, still so far away in a world that transcends reality and Richard's worried gaze.  
  
Rammstein are back on track again, but Till isn't.  
  
\-----  
  
The pieces of the puzzle fall into place somewhat, a fortnight after the concert and a month after he stopped talking. One month, thirty days, the magic number; it's midafternoon and Richard is making a cup of coffee for himself, and just as he's feeling a curious sense of deja vu at this simple act, the door to the flat opens. Till is the first to charge through, leaving the guitarist to blink after him as he hurls himself into his room, slamming the door shut behind him.  
  
"What the..."  
  
Flake and Olli are next, both looking completely and utterly shattered. "Risch," Flake whispers as he collapses on the sofa. "Risch. Oh my God. I think we've fucked up big time."  
  
"What's going on? What did the doctor say? It's not permanent?"  
  
"It's not an issue of permanence," Olli says just as softly as he sits down next to the keyboardist. "I think things got clearer, what with Till not having talked for over a month now. There's not an official diagnosis at hand and we've not been given further instructions, but... the doctor _thinks_ it might be selective mutism."  
  
" _What?_ Selective mutism? Are you for real?" Richard blurts out. "why in the name of - why to us and not when he's on stage? He hates being on stage! And I thought only children could...!"  
  
"It's not just for children," Flake mutters. "and we can't... answer those questions. Not yet. What the hell am I even _saying_?" he shakes his head, distracted; the guitarist bites his lip in nervousness as he watches the scene. He hasn't seen Flake this disoriented in years. "I mean... well, he hasn't _chosen_ to be mute, that's what I'm trying to convey to you. If it is selective mutism, some kind of event or series of events must have happened that triggered it, and he likely had no control over that. But once it's set in, apparently it can get stronger with will. And he's communicating less and less every day... you see where I'm going with this?"  
  
Olli nods grimly. The guitarist stares at them, trying to digest this information. "You mean," he whispers, the words sounding heavy as they fall from his lips. "you mean... there might be a chance that he genuinely _wants_ to be..."  
  
"Maybe he's feeling as if he'll complicate personal matters by talking. Surely you've noticed that since Till lost his voice, we've been really holding back on the arguments. Till's gone mute, not deaf or blind, he must have seen it... and he's the lead vocals for the band, maybe he's mentally aspiring to be just that and nothing more..."  
  
His coffee's going cold and his head is spinning. "But..." Richard shakes his head before sinking down on the table. "but... but that's _insane_ ," he whispers, clenching his eyes shut as he feels a migraine starting to form, rubbing at his temples to try to combat this situation. "are we saying that he's dehumanizing himself because life is too hard for him to go about? There's no way... no, I don't want to believe that, he's not even here in the room at the moment, stop speculating and just...!"  
  
" _Risch_."  
  
And then suddenly a pair of hands are holding him by the shoulders, another pair of arms grasping him gently around his torso and helping him sit down on the sofa. He raises his head to see that both Olli and Flake are looking at him worriedly.  
  
"Risch. Calm down. It's bad enough that Till's not well."  
  
" _Ja._ I didn't mean any offense, I honestly didn't. You are right, it is speculation and nothing more - Till's the only one even remotely close to knowing what's really going on, and even that's not a certainty. But it's not as if we can march in and ask, either, so I was just trying to think of possibilities."  
  
The bassist's words come through, but Richard's confusion hasn't lessened any. He drops his arms and sinks into the sofa, staring blankly ahead as he tries to put those events in a logical sequence - Till losing his voice, partially regaining it after two weeks, and then possibly being diagnosed as a selective mute. But then, did he ever lose his ability to _sing_ to begin with? They had never seen that one coming, but now that it's obvious that Till's speech and singing abilities are two distinctive things, that is a possibility also. And what about his creativity, which still hasn't come back, and his ever-decreasing communication with the outside world? It's far too confusing for Richard to even try to understand, and he lets out a pained groan with the effort, causing his two bandmates to lean in closer in their shared concern.  
  
"I'm fine," he mumbles before they can ask. Neither seems convinced, so he changes the subject. "... who else knows?"  
  
"We haven't told Paul or Doom yet. Not sure how to even start."  
  
"... Doom's not going to take this well, is he?"  
  
Olli actually shudders at the thought. " _No_. No, he isn't. And why would he, when none of us can? Till's taking it the worst of all."  
  
Pause.  
  
"Suppose that it actually is selective mutism," Richard says slowly, loathing even the sound of the phrase from his lips. "suppose that Till actually has that... how long is it going to last? How do we make it better?"  
  
"It's hard to say. But if the core of the problem is resolved, he very well might recover gradually. As for how long it'll last... weeks, months, we don't know."  
  
This doesn't bode well and he feels like he's suffocating. Richard rises to his feet shakily, the keyboardist supporting him as he gets up; blearily he stares at Flake, wondering when his resentment against the man dissolved into nothing and when he became someone that he could hold onto like this. "I need to get out," he says, his mouth feeling dry. "I... I need to get out of this flat for a while... have a think..."  
  
"You do that," Flake tells him quietly, but his expression is firmly set. Only his painfully-tight grip on the younger man gives his own fear away. "you need it. But don't get drunk. I don't want you getting hurt because of Till, he can't help it, and you shouldn't beat up yourself because of this. If you get yourself intoxicated and headfirst into an accident I will _never let either you or Till live it down_. You understand that, right?"  
  
Richard nods numbly and he lets go. "I've got to find Paul and Doom too, can't keep this a secret forever. Are you coming with me, Olli?"  
  
The bassist shakes his head, looking almost on the verge of tears himself. "No, Flake. I can't leave Till alone. And I can't bear to see what those two are going to look like when we tell them. I'll stay here for the time being - that's not cowardly, right?"  
  
"No," the guitarist says before Flake does. "no, it isn't."  
  
With those words, he turns and all but runs out of the flat, not sure where he's going but simply needing to leave, to see the sunlight, to run as far as he can. February is more than halfway over, and more frost is melting off the trees day by day. Winter and its days of cold sunlight are nearly gone and spring is coming, but there are neither green leaves nor bloom on the trees yet, perhaps there never will be.  
  
\-----  
  
And it's nearly eight in the evening when Richard comes back, breathless and nursing a stitch in his side from the sporadic bouts of running that he's done. His head is only a little bit clearer than before, and even that's simply in the sense that the shock's worn off. Olli greets him at the door and says that Flake hasn't returned, nor has he received any calls from any other members of the band - he looks surprisingly tired and still very upset, and for that moment looks _everything_ like the youngest member of the band, stirring a sense of protectiveness and empathy in the guitarist's heart.  
  
"I think I've changed my mind about not going out," Olli says hollowly, rubbing at his forehead. "I think I want to go out for a walk as well. And I should probably face up to it and go to find them, too, now that you're here. Keep the fort for me, Risch?"  
  
"I will. Be safe, Olli."  
  
When the door shuts, leaving Richard alone in the darkness, he switches a couple of lights in the flat on and sighs heavily. He hasn't eaten anything for a while - he should have asked Olli whether Till's had any meals, in retrospect, but it's a bit too late for that now. No reason why he can't ask the man himself, although Richard does hesitate (understandably so) when he glances towards Till's door. How's the older man coping? He's not sure if he wants to know. But his excursion into the outside world has calmed him down enough that he can at least try, so he walks up and knocks on the door.  
  
"Till? It's me," pause. "I'll come in after ten seconds. If you don't want me inside... block the door, and I'll understand."  
  
He waits politely for ten seconds before trying the handle. It opens smoothly and without barriers - he steps inside the room, which is vaguely lit with only a desk lamp. There's also another light there, flickering on and off, that he squints at as he steps inside, closing the door behind him. Till's lying on the bed, holding a lighter above himself and blankly staring at it as he flicks it on and off repeatedly. From the looks of it, he's been at this for a while - he doesn't even look away from what he's doing to acknowledge Richard.  
  
"Stop that."  
  
The man acts as if he didn't hear a thing and keeps going.  
  
"If you drop that thing you might end up setting yourself or fire, and I'm certainly not going to stick up for you if that happens. _Stop_ it!"  
  
He didn't expect much, but Till actually looks away from the lighter to stare at him for a long moment; then without protest or even a hint of spite, he lowers his arm, shuts off the lighter and puts it on the chest of drawers, even pushing it away from him. Richard watches and finds himself shocked at two things: one, that he's actually gotten through to Till for the first time in ages, and two, that there is a long cut on the other's arm that certainly wasn't there that morning.  
  
"Till," he gasps, and before the other can react, reaches out with both hands to grab the other's arm. Till looks down at himself and grimaces, trying to pull away, but winces soundlessly as the effort threatens to open up the cut again. Besides, Richard is holding him too securely. "Till... what happened to you?"  
  
 _You're not showing his condition any respect if you phrase a question like that, you idiot,_ he chastises himself as the words leave his lips. Taking a deep breath, he scrutinizes the cut again - it's by the side of Till's wrist, quite shallow and there's just the one. But he can't think of anything that might have happened to the man during the whole day that might have left him with a mark like this, unless...  
  
"Did you do this to yourself?"  
  
Till doesn't nod or shake his head to this. What he does provides no answers at all, but succeeds in disturbing the younger man regardless - he gives him a long unreadable look before his body suddenly goes lax and he resumes staring blankly up at the ceiling again. It's as if he doesn't even care anymore, and the possibility that Till really has done it to himself - and that he'd do it again in a heartbeat because of how little he actually cares - angers and terrifies the guitarist to such an extent that he can barely hold onto the other's arms because his own hands are shaking too badly.  
  
"Did you clean yourself up?" Richard demands, forcing himself to adopt a calm tone of voice; after all, his first concern is getting his friend all patched up. Till looks straight up at the ceiling as if he didn't hear anything, his face completely and uncannily devoid of expression. "... well, it can't hurt to do it again."  
  
He looks at the chest of drawers; a tube of antiseptic cream is sitting on top of it, and he takes it, screwing the lid open and peering at it. Knowing that Till won't resist him, he rolls the older man on his back and grasps his arm, massaging the cream gently into the cut. Till doesn't even flinch; Richard works without uttering a single word, not trusting himself to say the right thing. But the tension is getting to him in too many ways for him to handle - he might be causing Till pain, and the lack of any reaction makes him more nervous. And then there's also the simpler fact that he's touching the older man and feeling the bulge of his muscles and his human warmth beneath his fingertips, the sensation awakening his desires and bringing with it yet another flood of self-hatred that he simply can't seem to rise above such lowly thoughts as he pulls away and turns around to put the antiseptic cream back in the drawer-  
  
"Why do you have to scare me," Richard cries, almost on the verge of shouting at Till proper. His fists clench around the edge of the drawers, and he actively has to fight to stop himself lashing out physically at the older man, keeping his back turned to him to prevent such a scenario from occurring. " _why_? Why do you have to make me terrified for you _all the damn time_?"  
  
He doesn't dare to look at Till. The terror courses through his entire being once more before fading into nothingness, and he bites down hard on his lower lip, trying to avoid another outburst. "I don't like seeing you hurt," he says. "and suffering in its many forms is all you've gotten out of life in recent times. Why the hell would you want to add onto it? It wasn't you though... right? I - I don't even know what to say. I can't handle this. I want to hear you, I want you to tell me it's going to be okay, I wish you'd just hit me over the head and tell me that it's just a scratch or something, but... you can't speak-"  
  
A hefty, uncomfortable silence settles over them. Richard exhales slowly, covering his face with both hands. "Sorry," he whispers. "I didn't mean to sound angry. I'm... Jesus, I'm so freaked out right now. I think this tops _everything_ I've freaked out over in the past years. Your diagnosis... and that cut there... I don't know what to think. I don't want to believe any of this-"  
  
Richard doesn't get to finish this sentence, which is probably a blessing; Till's hand closes around his shoulder and forces him to turn around. Their gaze locks in midair, the guitarist's blue eyes meeting the other's green ones, and he's left startled and a little breathless at how suddenly _emotional_ Till looks. The older man's eyes are wide and filled with an almost innocent, apologetically wounded look, and that look alone speaks so much of his feelings - he could stare into them forever, but Richard brings himself back down to earth when the realization dawns upon him that Till might be trying to ask for something.  
  
"... Hmm?"  
  
Till gestures with his head towards the dresser. Richard walks back over, immediately spotting the notepad and pen and assuming that that's what the older man needs. He's proven correct when he holds them up and the singer reaches out a hand for them. "What do you want to say?"  
  
Without taking his eyes off Richard, the man sits up on the bed and scribbles down something on the pad while holding it so the guitarist can see what's being written.  
  
 _Thank you. For everything._  
  
Till pauses for a moment before writing the next line; and only then does his gaze fall onto the notepad.  
  
 _I'm sorry. All I do is mess everything up for you._  
  
Richard suddenly feels a lump arise in his throat; it's upsetting to see Till in such a state of self-deprecation, but even more troubling is the fact that while he wants to deny it with all his heart - _no, Till, what are you saying, of course you don't mess up everything in my life, get a hold on yourself_ \- the words won't come. And even if they did, they would be nothing but empty consolations, words without true weight attached to them, and that's not what Till needs right now. Richard swallows hard to get rid of the feeling and sits down cross-legged on the bed, facing the singer.  
  
"Look at me."  
  
Till's eyes flicker upwards, but he doesn't raise his head. Richard reaches out with one hand, gently lifting the other's chin up so their eyes are locked with one another. Without breaking their gaze, he then moves his hand downwards to rest ever so gently on Till's chest.  
  
"You're still alive, Till," he whispers, pressing his hand onto the warmth, wishing that he could delve into the layers beneath and touch his bare skin. He picks up the singer's right hand and presses it onto his own chest, hoping that he'll reciprocate the gesture. "see? Your heart's still beating. So is mine."  
  
The older man carries on looking at him, but eventually his eyes move downwards over Richard's chest, his hand twitching lightly as he too presses his hand deeper.  
  
"You can feel it, right?"  
  
It seems like an age, but Till eventually nods slightly.  
  
"I'm scared, Till," the guitarist says quietly, fighting to keep the tears back. "I'm scared. Because you're hurt and because you think you'll hurt me and the others by just existing. That's why mine's beating fast. Yours is too. But it's _beating_. So it doesn't matter that you think that you mess things up for me, Till. We're human. That's what we do. If..." Richard falters slightly before carrying on. "if... you really... did mess things up for me, all the time, then... I don't think I would still mind because it would make you who you are. And if you mean your voice, then I can wait. I've waited a month. I can wait longer. It's not that difficult, because I at least know that you can still sing, even if it's not to us. I knew you _seven years_ before I even realized that you had the voice of an angel. So... so I can wait that long again, as long as it takes, until it comes back again and you can talk to us once more," he takes his hand off Till's chest, closing both his hands around his arm, hoping that the sound of his heartbeat is getting through. "and that is as long as you breathe in this world and your heart keeps beating."  
  
 _Let him believe me,_ he pleads desperately to a God that he hasn't thought about and hasn't believed in for years. _Please let him not think this is sentimental bullshit, Gott, please let him believe me, please let my message through._ He briefly feels as if his heart is about to stop when Till pulls away, but the singer then grasps at his sleeve; Richard looks over to see that the older man's fumbling beneath his pillowcase. He soon produces the guitarist's CD player, with the earphones wrapped neatly around it and the CD inside. He hands it back to the younger man while making a motion for him to wait while he reaches again for the notepad and writes something down, now looking very tired.  
  
 _It was one of the most beautiful gifts that you could have given me,_ he writes. _Thank you._  
  
Richard becomes immensely relieved but very sad upon reading this, and curses himself for being so emotional, letting Till's soul get to him in the most inconvenient times. He briefly ponders if he should tell Till to keep the CD player, but he doesn't want to ruin the gesture, and there's no practical reason for the older man to keep the mariachi music around when they aren't going to be performing anytime soon. So he takes it gratefully, letting their hands touch, lingering just a tiny bit longer than what would be normal before he pulls the blankets up.  
  
"Sleep," he whispers in Till's ear. "you'll feel better soon."  
  
Much to his relief, the older man obediently closes his eyes. Within seconds, his head lolls back on the pillows slightly and his breathing slows; he's not yet fully asleep though, his eyelids are flickering a little. Richard almost reaches out to embrace Till just before he falls asleep, but catches himself at the very last second. Till might not be comfortable with it, for one, and he's not sure whether he'd be making both of their lives any better by doing such a thing. And the fact that he can't even express such a basic form of affection to the older man anymore saddens him, especially seeing as there was once a time when they were more open and honest with one another. Even just a month ago he'd hugged Till - but with that memory comes the reminder that he hadn't actually returned Richard's embrace back then, and that it's not going to happen now.  
  
 _I could hug you before,_ Richard thinks to himself. _I'd hug you quite often, in fact. I even kissed you once, too. Do you remember, Till? Back when I asked you to join the band? Why is it that we were so much more intimate back then, when we didn't actually know quite as much about one another? Why then, and not now when I want to more than I've ever wanted to hold anyone else?_  
  
No answers come, and much to his chagrin, seeing the older man asleep makes him feel even worse. With that vaguely peaceful yet sorrowful look on his face, his long eyelashes casting a faint shadow over his closed eyelids, it's not helping in the slightest. Richard wonders how he's managed to stay close to someone who's caused him more pain than anything over all those years, then realizes that he could say the exact same for Till and his relationship to the guitarist itself. Hurting and being hurt continuously, lost in a vicious cycle of giving and receiving. Their shared purgatory. And looking down at Till, who looks so vulnerable and helpless in sleep, Richard finds himself closing his eyes in despair as a single tear rolls down his cheek and onto the other's bare wrist.  
  
"See you in the morning," he manages to whisper before getting up and retreating back into his room, collapsing onto the bed; his vision is beginning to blur with tears that he's wanted to shed for all this time and never could. But he still has the sense to turn his body to face the door, because the thin wall works both ways, and curls up even further in bed so Till won't hear him if he starts sobbing and _oh goddamn it._  
  
\-----  
  
He doesn't even remember the last time that he cried this hard.  
  
\-----  
  
Schneider doesn't take the news well, as expected. Paul doesn't either. But by the time everyone is informed, it simply becomes established that nobody's accepting the situation fully, and this means they refuse to acknowledge Till as a selective mute. "This doesn't change anything," Paul says decisively after his initial bout of shell-shockedness, casting a determined glance at Till's door. "Olli was right. He's _our_ mute bastard, and even then I'd hesitate to call him mute."  
  
"We can't force him to change - he doesn't need pity. Time is what he needs and we've got enough of it, more than enough. No one is to treat him or anyone else differently because of this."  
  
So they just learn to live with Till's mutism, and stop fighting against it completely. This is precisely the cure that the man has been seeking, although none of them (not even Till himself) really know it. It certainly does take longer than a few days for the singer to recover, and when it happens it's fairly evened out and gradual. But he takes only weeks, at any rate, and his progress is surprisingly fast.  
  
\-----  
  
The first member of Rammstein that Till finally breaks his silence to is Doom Schneider, about six weeks after the diagnosis. Even then it's not much more than a few words, but for the utterly defeated band, it's even better than poetry or music or anything else in the world. Paul is tuning his guitar with Richard when it happens and Schneider is in the next room eating a pastry. Till enters the room with both guitarists quietly when they're discussing rising replacement string prices, and when they both fall silent for a few seconds and give him a little hello, he replies with one of his rare smiles. It's not speech, but this puts them in a better mood almost immediately because in recent times Till's hardly smiled about anything.  
  
"Till, could you get Doom for us?" Paul says in an almost offhand manner - they've gotten used to him beckoning them when they have business to discuss - but nothing can prepare them for what happens next. Instead of nodding and coming back with the drummer in tow, Till turns to the door.  
  
"You are wanted, Schneider," he calls, his voice as clear and strong, and Paul nearly drops his guitar in surprise while Richard just gapes at him. The drummer runs inside the room in response and stands there in shock, staring at the man; he looks back at them with the same faint smile on his face.  
  
"Am I hearing things, or did he just call for me?" Schneider asks shakily. They can only nod. "Till, I - I can't believe it!"  
  
"Don't mention it," the singer answers quietly, and leaves the room after a small nod in their direction. By this point Paul and Richard have thoroughly forgotten what they wanted Schneider for, and they follow suit, bombarding the man with questions and whether he can talk to them properly now, but Till only looks at them with a strangely alive glimmer in his eyes. Apart from those two sentences, he doesn't speak again for the remainder of the day - but it's definite progress and they leave him be to get on with it a little further once the initial shock fades.  
  
Flake and Olli are informed shortly afterwards, and they express delight at this as well. "We shouldn't press him too much, though," Flake says while nodding wisely. "I'm just glad he's started up, even if the honor of getting him to address one of us first went to Doom..."  
  
"That was hardly my fault!" Schneider protests, but he can't keep the grin off his face. "we'll have him back with us in no time. But speaking of which-" he turns to the two guitarists with question marks in his eyes. "-why did you two want me over in the first place? I don't think I ever got to hear it."  
  
"Damn it if I can remember," Paul answers, but he can't stop himself looking ridiculously pleased about the situation either. "it was nowhere near as significant as getting Till to say something."  
  
Richard nods in response, but his mind is actually wandering far away elsewhere. This improvement has come far more quickly than expected - which is nothing but good - but he keeps thinking about what Flake said. _Why Schneider_ , he thinks to himself, even though there really isn't a logical reason for it to be _not_ Schneider - he's a bandmate, same as everyone else, and that's really all it is. And after all the blame that he's placed on himself, it's probably a good thing that he was acknowledged by Till first. But the guitarist can't stop the increasing feeling of discomfort within him. He'd always thought that while all six of them got along perfectly well with each other, Till and he were particularly close, and not without good reason; is it so wrong to feel a little bothered about the fact that he chose someone else to talk to first?  
  
He doesn't know, but keeps on hoping anyway. It's the best he can do.  
  
Of course, like most beautiful things in life, Richard's hope goes vastly unrecognized. The second incident occurs soon after he breaks his silence to Schneider, but not immediately afterwards; after that fateful day comes a few more of complete and utter silence, which prompts fears amongst them that perhaps he is relapsing. But they treat him with patience, and they are rewarded four days later when Till casually asks Flake for a cup of morning coffee over breakfast. He is the second bandmate to be addressed and after much rejoicing, he gratefully makes the singer a cup of coffee which Till savors and declares supreme before getting up from the table and back to his room. He emerges three hours later with five pages worth of lyrics that he presents to the others, and goes to the kitchen to make his own damn coffee while everyone else reads them over. This three hours' worth of output is more than what Till has produced in the last month, and they're of a quality similar to how things used to be back in their 'Sehnsucht' days. Not long after this, Olli and Paul are acknowledged in the same day during group practice, an incident that they celebrate with fine dining and wine.  
  
He's soon holding sustained conversations with the band on an individual basis. Till is seen chatting to Flake a lot especially, although never for more than ten or so minutes at a time - more seems to tire him out - and recovers quickly, day by day. He still remains quiet when they're talking in a group, barely speaking except to comment on a few things, but overall, he's back and good and talking to all of them.  
  
All of them except Richard. A month passes on from the day that he first addressed Schneider, but there is no progress with Richard yet. The rest of the band has noticed this all too well, and are now respectfully hesitant to approach the topic when talking to him; but at the same time, none of them want to confront Till on this either. Whatever the reason might be, it could be something that would shut him down again if asked about, and the guitarist is not so unreasonable as to not understand this sentiment.  
  
But there's no denying that Richard is saddened and immensely puzzled about this. It hurts to see Till talking and having a chuckle about something with Schneider when they're all in a room together and have the older man suddenly fall into a complete silence when the drummer leaves. It hurts to walk past a room and see the man discussing song lyrics with Flake within perfect earshot. Even when they're in a group, the singer doesn't comment on anything that _he's_ saying. But soon the confusion changes into frustration, jealousy and downright loathing along with the horrible feeling that he's doing (or done) something wrong to Till without knowing what it is. He also feels that the singer is not talking to him on purpose; after all, he's recovered from his uncontrollable condition, so he must be _refusing_ to address Richard for some reason. All of this just adds up to more and more misunderstandings and hurt and periods of intense self-loathing amongst everything else.  
  
Did his heartfelt speech not mean anything to Till at all?  
  
Does Richard not mean anything to him now?  
  
 _Till Lindemann has been silent for..._  
  
Cross it out and try again. _Till Lindemann regained speech on the... he... Till has...  
  
... Has he, though?  
  
... Completely?_  
  
It's as if Till's not even trying to see him there anymore.  
  
So one night Richard finally has had enough and comes back to the flat late, drunk out of his mind. Only Till is there, sitting at the table and jotting down something on his notebook. He looks up at Richard as he approaches and quickly drops his gaze back to whatever he's working on; in the guitarist's inebriated and not quite sane state, this is more than enough trigger to unleash the flood of hatred that's been stewing in his mind for weeks.  
  
"I guess you think all of this is particularly funny," he slurs out, stabbing the empty bottle of beer in Till's direction. The singer looks at him, and there's an emotion in his eyes that Richard doesn't particularly like the look of. It's not a look of distaste or hatred, and it's not at all a patronizing one; rather, the exact opposite. He seems rather unnerved by what's going on, worried even, and the younger man would have taken this as a sign that he cared if he were sober - but Richard is hideously drunk and resentful and Till's concern only makes him angrier. "and don't stare at me like that, either! I've just about had it with you, you know that, Dietrich? Not good enough for you to talk to, am I? You'll talk to everyone else all you want and you'll sing for hours whenever we have a show but you won't even utter a single goddamn word to me!"  
  
Till doesn't answer, but he stands up slowly. Richard interprets this as him trying to leave, although the other's intentions are more along the lines of trying to put them both in a more even position. "I'm not done with you yet!" he continues, his voice rising to a near yell. "don't you dare move from where you are right now. Don't you dare try to get anywhere further away from me, you understand? You and I are going to settle this right now and if you won't talk to me, you can bet that this will be the last time I ever will say anything to you at all! Who persuaded you to be the vocals for the band, all those years ago, Dietrich? I did! I trusted your voice and your lyricism and everything you were capable of, I trusted _you_ , and this is how you treat me?" at this point he throws the bottle at the wall in his fury; it doesn't shatter and simply bounces onto the floor, rolling by a stop by his feet yet again. But Till flinches at the action, which fuels the triumphant rage within him even more. He's never made Till scared of him before. The other's blue-green eyes are clouded over and he looks absolutely _wounded_ ; it shouldn't be right. Richard knows that he's hurting him, but Till is a masochist and he should be reveling in whatever pain the guitarist is causing him at the moment - it's just more material for the bastard to dwell on later and he should be grateful, he thinks bitterly, and tries to shift away the growing unease and guilt from his mind. All it matters is that he has the upper hand.  
  
"You twofaced son of a _bitch_. You goddamned insufferable prick. I should have known back then that I never meant all that much to you. Don't look at me like that, you know it's true! You love the band itself and the fans and you'll happily go and screw a groupie or - whatever - but you quite clearly don't want to spare any affection for me. Talk about unappreciative. It's like you don't even _care_ that you've got your heart on your sleeves! You're so horrible at pretending that I don't even know why I never called you out on it during all these years. I know, you hate performing, you've always hated it and me being here doesn't make one little bit of difference because you probably hate me too for making you join the band in the first place. Why didn't you just keep silent for the rest of your life if that's the point you wanted to make?"  
  
No response. "Selective mutism," the guitarist says disgustedly, feeling for a cigarette. There isn't any left, which only makes him more disgusted with himself and Till. " _selective_ is right! Jesus! It's like I've been invisible all this time. I swear, if I didn't want to hold onto you so much, I would have beaten the shit out of you a long time ago-"  
  
And then nothing. Richard tries to carry on, there are years of resentment coming up that have been unsaid up until this point, but somehow he can't continue with his rant anymore as those words fall from his lips. He's inadvertently revealed too much of himself. Till looks up quickly at the unintended confession, a stunned look on his face, and Richard backs away at the sight, feeling the rage within him die down in favor of fear. He swallows hard, feeling as if he's about to be sick, his heart beating on overdrive as he waits for Till's reaction; he's still furious, but now he's really not sure if it's anger towards the older man for being an oblivious fair-weathered bastard or anger at himself for doing what's he's doing and being what he is.  
  
But Till doesn't move nor tear his gaze away from Richard, even when the seconds ticking by slip into minutes; and when the guitarist realizes this, the only thing certain in his mind is the anger.  
  
"Enough!" he shouts, picking up the bottle again and wildly brandishing it; this time his throw is successful at breaking it into pieces. Shattered glass rains down on the floor, the wallpaper slightly torn and stained where the bottle hit it, though neither of them are hurt. But before Richard can register what he's done, Till rushes over, grabs him and holds him in a tight embrace; of course he's struggling and shouting at the top of his lungs, but the man is simply far too strong for him. He's being picked up around the waist, he can feel that much, and before he can protest Till has him hoisted up on a shoulder and is carrying him to the bathroom. Richard pounds on Till's back, demanding to be let down and cursing the older man, but he's immovable. It's not as if he's even got enough strength in him to resist anyway, and when he's unceremoniously dumped in the shower stall he's far too disoriented to react until the singer strips him free of his jacket and boots, throwing the items outside the bathroom. "what the hell are you trying to pull, Dietrich. _What the fuck._ "  
  
Till then turns on the shower onto the coldest setting. When Richard cries out and flinches away from the stream of water, he backs out from the stall and quickly slides the door closed on the younger man, watching him anxiously through the glass.  
  
" _Ich hasse dich_ ," Richard screams through the cold spray of the shower, slamming his head against the walls and barely noticing the dull ache that comes with each impact. He doesn't even care anymore what language he's shouting in or who he's addressing his screams to - Till, himself, or both. "I hate you! _I hate you_!"  
  
Till's staring at him, his eyes wide and his expression frozen almost as if he's about to burst into tears; he's actually shaking, his knuckles white with the effort of keeping the door shut against his will. Richard sees the other's lips tremble when he happens to look around, and this silences him more effectively than the shower did, awakening him to what he's done and where he is. It is too much for him to bear, knowing what he's done to Till; he can't handle it anymore, he's going to be sick, and the guitarist lurches over on his hands and knees. Nothing comes up because he's not eaten properly in over twenty hours as it is, but he can't stop himself retching and dry-heaving. And despite all that's happened, the older man opens the door and enters the stall; he reaches over with a hand and rubs his back in soothing circles, turning off the shower and letting the guitarist calm down. Richard only then fully understands how low he's sunk and wishes nothing more than to just curl up and die right there and then.  
  
"I'm sorry," he whispers hoarsely when he can finally catch a breath, leaning on his arms heavily and trembling as he forces himself to meet Till's eyes. He's not sure if he can be heard, but it doesn't matter to him at that moment. "I didn't mean any of it... forgive me... please, Till, I'm... _I'm sorry_..."  
  
But his arms can no longer support his weight. Richard slumps down onto the floor of the shower stall, his vision going dark as he succumbs to exhaustion; the cold tap drips onto his already soaked and freezing clothes and he doesn't even register it. He's so numb and tired and his head is spinning and he feels like he's being sucked into a void of absolute and total _nothingness_ and he just wants it to be over. A curious peace settles into his mind and he blanks out, not realizing that Till's dragging him out and frantically trying to shake him awake.  
  
 _Oh my God. Why can't this just end?_  
  
His heart is beating so loud that he can hear it pounding in his ears; but he nevertheless wonders with the last shred of his consciousness if this is kind of what it feels like to die, and whether Till would still want to be with him wherever he's going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a terrible person, I never let either of them have any sort of breaks whatsoever. x.x
> 
> I'll just briefly list the quotes/songs used in each title:  
> Ch. 1 uses a quote from 'Seemann' in 'Herzeleid'.  
> Ch. 2 uses 'Bestrafe Mich' from 'Sehnsucht'.  
> Ch. 3 uses 'Sonne' from 'Mutter'.  
> Ch. 5 and 6 use 'Morgenstern' and 'Keine Lust' respectively from 'Reise, Reise'.  
> Ch. 4 uses 'Let Me Break' from Emigrate's titular album, which fits with the situation in the chapter.
> 
> They are going by chronological order released, yes. All quotes, in the title and in the chapters themselves, are relevant to the situation presented in each chapter along with Richard and/or Till's thoughts, even though they might not be immediately obvious! 
> 
> Ch. 7's title comes from 'Feuer und Wasser' from 'Rosenrot'; this one is a little different because people might not feel this way, but I believe that 'Rosenrot' is a beautifully sad album overall. Their weakest, but at the same time their deepest. The full line is ' _Sie wird sich nicht an mich verschwenden... Ich weiß_ ' ('She won't waste herself on me... I know'); it makes the entire album for me because of the sheer emotion and almost tangible pain that Till conveys when he sings the last two words. So it's less about the translation but the emotion in the song itself, really. It's also a song about the pain of unrequited love. Take from that what you will.


	8. '... Jetzt gehörst du ihm.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: I do not know any of the members of Rammstein; this is strictly a work of fiction that does not intend to profit nor present its portrayal of the band's lives as fact.**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Here is the chapter that wraps up a lot of things and as a result was the most pain in the ass to write! Good thing it's been pulled off. The notes belong more to the bottom than here. For now, please do read on!

**Silence (Chapter 8 of 9) -** _'... Jetzt gehörst du ihm.'_  
  
\--------------------------  
  
It is half-past one when Richard awakes in a warm bed, very much not dead and very much with company. He's been dried off completely, dressed in cotton pajamas, and when he squints a little and reaches out half-consciously, trying to regain his bearings, his hand is suddenly gripped by another and he gasps out in surprise. He can't immediately see what's going on and this makes him panic, his eyes haven't adjusted to the dimness of the room yet - whoever is keeping him company, though, seems to realize this. The mattress creaks and shifts a little as the other sits up and reaches towards the bedside desk; there's the sound of fumbling around before the desk lamp is flickered on and Richard winces and closes his eyes at the sudden brightness.  
  
It doesn't take long, however, for him to slowly open them again - seeing that he's in Till's room, and the man is lying on the bed with him, staring right into his face.  
  
"Till!" Richard yelps, flinching out of sheer shock. He's still so dazed that he's not sure how else to react, but the older man keeps looking at him and it takes only a second or two for the memories to flood back. And _then_ the crushing guilt comes as things fall into place. "Gott, did you bring us here? No, what am I even _saying_ \- I'm sorry, I'm so sorry... Till, what I said earlier, I didn't mean it, I was just so drunk and upset... it should never have happened, it was a mis-"  
  
Till places a finger to Richard's lips, shushing him; the younger man can swear that this has happened before, a long time ago, but this flash of thought is erased completely when the singer shifts closer to him and pulls him close to lie against his chest. Richard gasps, utterly bewildered at this turn of events, but it is nothing compared to what Till does next.  
  
" _Richard_ ," he leans down and breathes softly in his ear, and the guitarist nearly starts weeping right then and there. It's not an American-style 'Richard'; what Till uses is a proper Germanic ' _Rikh-hart_ ' whispered in an almost inaudible, gorgeous baritone.  
  
Like how he used to call him, a long time ago. And until that point Richard hadn't even realized how much he missed hearing it.  
  
"Till, you _spoke_ ," Richard whispers, tears starting to run down his face. "you finally talked to me, _Gott_..."  
  
"I'd hoped that the first words I spoke to you would be some of the most meaningful," the singer says quietly, stroking his hair. "but I could never figure out what to say to make things perfectly all right again. But I shouldn't have left you in the dark, it just made things worse for you. I'm sorry that it had to be like this."  
  
"Oh," he cries, and that's all he can manage before he breaks down completely. Richard feels like a fool for being like this now, when he could be spending this precious time in a less embarrassing way, but perhaps he's crying precisely because he's with Till and he knows that the singer understands. They've misunderstood each other all along, and with that realization a weight in the guitarist's heart is lifted so quickly that he can't quite cope with it yet. "it wasn't just your voice that I missed," Richard mumbles through his tears. "I missed you. Everything about you."  
  
The older man would normally have looked a little uncomfortable with this kind of emotional outburst, what with having his best friend crying into his chest, but this is not the case this time. In fact, his arms tighten around the guitarist in a more protective way than anything. "I know," Till's soothing baritone murmurs in his ear. "I know... and how I missed you as well, Risch..."  
  
"' _Richard_ '," he automatically finds himself correcting, blushing as the older man quirks one eyebrow quizzically. "I mean... I'm sorry, it's just that... I haven't been called that in so long, it's just like the old days again..."  
  
 _Smart move there, Kruspe_ , he chastises himself, but the older man actually gives him a fond smile at those words. The slightly-concerned look that he held before melts away from his expression completely, and Richard is left completely stunned at how much younger Till looks as a result. "Richard it is, then," he says gently. "let it all out. It's okay."  
  
So Richard, immensely relieved and feeling yet another weight being lifted, closes his eyes and does exactly that. He doesn't want to overwhelm himself or Till, but after all that's happened, he can allow himself this much. "Will you forgive me?" he sobs out as he wipes at his eyes; the older man nods a yes, which is all he needs. The crying doesn't last much longer than two minutes or so, but it is nevertheless an intense and cathartic experience that leaves the guitarist feeling kind of exhausted and light like a feather at the same time by the end of it all. He nuzzles into the other's arms, quiet and feeling washed out and empty as a blown egg.  
  
"Why Schneider?" he asks against Till's chest, his eyes tightly shut and semi-hoping that the singer won't hear.  
  
"Why Schneider?" Till echoes him against his wishes, and when Richard dares to glance up a little he sees that the older man is giving him a small encouraging smile. "what about him?"  
  
He doesn't say anything, but the man's figured it out already. "Because I opened up to him first?" he asks, and Richard gives a barely visible nod, his face still buried in the other's chest. He can feel Till's eyes fixed on the top of his head, and even though he's quiet, he can tell just by the change in the other's breathing patterns that he's thinking of an answer to give. And because he is still so glad that the man is talking to him, even though he's still mortified at what he did hours ago, that he doesn't question it any further and simply waits.  
  
But what Till says next makes him look up, baffled. "Do you know why I agreed to join back up last year?" he asks, and it's clear from his tone that he expects a response. Richard blinks at the question and knits his eyebrows a little as he tries to figure out an answer. He's not sure what this has anything to do with Schneider.  
  
"Our reuniting after the hiatus?" the older man nods. "wasn't it... wasn't it because _we_ wanted to all start back up? Did you-"  
  
"I was ready to get it over and done with, you know," Till says, cutting him short (though not in a malicious way). "I had the feeling that we might not last long when we joined back up. Things were bad between us, all of us, and I knew it was mostly my fault that we were destroying ourselves. I thought it was going to be the end, and that when it happened, it would be a long time before we saw each other again - and things would never really be the same from then onwards."  
  
"But... it wasn't your fault, Till. All of us were out of ideas and tired and taking it out on each other. All of us share the blame. You know that."  
  
"Before the hiatus was my depression and disillusionment. Poisoning myself and everything around me. I didn't want to let on to any of it, but it came out anyway. You know what it was like, Richard, with me just lashing out at you back then for doing something fairly reasonable creativity-wise."  
  
Richard looks down guiltily. "I'm not entirely clean in that aspect either, Till. I was far away most of the time and wasn't attentive enough to you."  
  
"Believe me, I now think you were _much_ better off being away from me. I was monstrous, utterly monstrous. Throwing a fit at the slightest thing," Till sighs, his eyes clouding over. "talking to you every now and then and occasionally having manners beaten into my head helped just a little. It helped to keep me enough of a decent human being so that I didn't just completely lose it altogether. So when we got back together, I wasn't feeling much better than before - I was still heartily sick of the media and how nobody seemed to understand a thing that I wanted to say. But what would that have made me? I thought of the best thing I had in store, the only thing of mine that I could offer you readily. My poetry. My voice. So I wrote and sang the best I could, but for months it didn't work out exactly the way I wanted to and that made me sad. Angry, too. Then I lost both, and I... I just didn't know what to do anymore."  
  
"So you did really become mute."  
  
Till hesitates. "I don't know _how_ to explain the first few days. I wish I could, but all I could say is... everything just... got to me eventually. Not as if they weren't getting to me before, but I honestly didn't expect it that morning, when I found out that I couldn't respond to you. When I tried to read or write to calm myself down, I couldn't focus because the words simply made no sense to me. I thought that it was just a temporary loss, possibly a bout of flu coming on, and that I'd worn myself out. And after a few days my voice did come back, bit by bit - I tried it out when no one was listening - but for the first three days or so, I was just so confused and exhausted that I didn't know how to act."  
  
The guitarist doesn't know what to think anymore at this bit of revelation. He simply stares at Till, his thoughts becoming increasingly complicated, wondering why the older man then kept up the facade of mutism for weeks. "I knew I could sing after the sixth day or so, that my voice had recovered. That's why I asked to be allowed to go the rehearsal. It wasn't just a leap of faith," the singer's saying, but the words sound strangely distant.  
  
"I don't understand, Till," Richard says faintly. "you sang perfectly every time we went onstage, and you say that you were capable of talking, but then why - why did you withhold it from us?"  
  
"I didn't mean to at first. But once I shut off - once the world fell silent - I saw how everyone stopped fighting. I saw how my state just seemed to repair relationships, just like that, and I calmed down. Then I thought that perhaps that it was me who had been the catalyst all along. That my state of things - my inability to let go - affected all of us. I was better off as just a singer, for all I could see. I didn't want to lose you, any of you, and who was I to just mess everything back up again when we could function as a band whether I talked or not - and when the world was quiet and peaceful like this? I just wanted to wait for my creativity to come back. Even though I could sing, and could talk, I simply decided that it would be best for everyone if I didn't talk for a while so that things could be evened out a little. Just for a while to get my thoughts together, of course; I didn't want it to be permanent, I didn't want to put any of you in jeopardy, and how would I have gone about the rest of my life completely mute? I thought that perhaps the coming days after the concert would be the ideal time to sit down with everyone and start up," he pauses there for breath, looking a little weary from the sudden burst of talking but determined. "but over time - the longer it carried on, the more I found myself at a loss as to what I would say, how I'd explain myself. If I'd just started talking as nothing had happened, there would be questions, and what would have I said to that? That I took a vow of silence for the good of everyone and to stop all the fighting? It'd have just ended up making everyone feel terrible in the process. I couldn't have that. Eventually I couldn't figure out how to form words around anyone in the band. Not even for simple things like thanking anyone or apologizing. The concert came and went, I gave it my all, but in the end I hadn't achieved a thing when it came to the things that mattered the most."  
  
"That's why you became more..." _this is awkward. What if his feelings are hurt again?_ "... withdrawn?"  
  
Till doesn't look offended, thankfully, and gives him a nod.  
  
"That's why I followed the songs, perhaps," he says quietly. "our songs were already written and composed ages ago. I'd sung them countless times before. There was no need for me to agonizingly worry about every word and phrase that I was saying. I guess in that way - that I couldn't find anything unrehearsed to say at all - I did become quite mute. And then I became scared. I was ready to call it quits before, or so I thought, but then I became suddenly afraid that this would actually be the end, that what I'd started to keep the peace was going to ruin things again..."  
  
 _'I'm so sorry'_ , Richard remembers Till writing on his notepad, so many weeks ago. It suddenly makes even more sense than before. _'All I do is mess everything up for you.'_  
  
"... But you were stronger than I thought you would be, all of you were. I wouldn't have been surprised if any one of you just threw up your hands up and left because of how I was acting, I would have deserved it completely. I wondered how anybody could stand being with me in this flat at all when I wasn't speaking a word and moping around - admittedly I still _do_ marvel at it - but you did. It would take me days to properly express how grateful I am for that. Eventually the support I was getting reassured me enough that I could function again, but I certainly couldn't have done it on my own."  
  
He stops there for breath, rolling over to lie on his back and closing his eyes. They remain quiet for some minutes: Till is resting, worn out but satisfied that he's gotten most of his side of things through, and the guitarist is thinking about everything the older man told him. It then strikes him that Till hasn't answered his original question, and he looks up, intending to ask again - the slightly exhausted look on the other's face makes him back down, but the other still notices and turns his head towards Richard. "Did you want to ask something?"  
  
"No, not if you're tired... you've talked a lot already..."  
  
"I want to clear things up, Richard. It's the least I can do. If there's anything to ask then do so, I won't bite."  
  
The guitarist hesitates, but decides to trust in Till. "Was there a reason... that it was Doom first?"  
  
"Of course," the older man responds immediately as if it was the most natural thing. "I never would have guessed that he felt that way about me. It was one of the things that really awakened me to my surroundings, truly paying attention to him for the first time in years. You know what I'm talking about, what happened a few days before the rehearsal-" Richard nods. "-I really did start thinking and observing everyone around me after that. I saw how Schneider looked guilty every time we looked at each other - I know I was giving him a hard time before I lost my voice, and even after that he was getting steadily more distressed because I couldn't talk. I must admit, I didn't think that... that he would end up being so hurt; he's not the first person you'd think of for something like that. It just _had_ to be him that I had to reassure first. I didn't want to let on that I'd heard - so 'Schneider' was the name I used, but I wanted him to know that I cared, that I really do hold him in high regard, how sorry I was for putting him through all of that and never even noticing it until recently."  
  
And it had been very much appreciated, Richard recalls, judging from the way the drummer had smiled for days afterwards. Till and Schneider have most definitely become closer since then. "What about the others?"  
  
"I did choose to speak to Flake next, and then to Olli and Paul as well," Till continues, stroking the other's back. "and I do confess to saving you for last. But I had a reason for that - coming back to the original question I asked you..."  
  
"About why you came back?"  
  
The singer nods and actually tightens his grip on the guitarist, as if feeling nervous about what he's about to confess. "I... came back because I wanted to say farewell to you," he says, his voice dropping to an almost-shy murmur. "that feeling of loss was especially strong with you, before we joined up, although it was mostly my insecurities getting in the way-" Richard is a little stunned but nods. "-and I wanted to prepare for what seemed like the inevitable at the time; losing you to the dissolution of Rammstein. I wanted to always remember you the way that you were. I never wanted to forget. Even if I joined another band, or married again, or became a full-time author - even when I grew old and weak over the years - I wanted to always be able to cry whenever I thought of you. I wanted to hurt whenever I looked at pictures of us. I wanted to miss you with every fiber of my being through the rest of my life."  
  
 _... Mein Gott... am I... hearing this right? I'm not just hallucinating all of this?_  
  
Oblivious to Richard's completely stunned expression, Till carries on. "It was you I feared hurting the most when I fell silent, you know. You were my lead guitarist and my best friend for all of those years, and yet I could barely communicate even to you. I was terribly ashamed of myself for that. But in the end it was you who first really helped me recover, Richard."  
  
"I was?"  
  
"That day, when I was diagnosed. Do you remember? You sat with me."  
  
Of course he remembers. It isn't something he'd forget any time soon. Till carries on. "With that in mind, I saved you for last because I wanted it to be special. I didn't want it to be just a casual sentence thrown in your direction. I wanted to tell you everything, when we were alone, and when I could find the words. But whenever I thought the time was right, and even though my muse came back, I could never come up with anything truly meaningful for you - and the hours and days just stacked up without me being able to say a single word to you. I thought about what I'd say, how I'd explain all this and how to tell you that I was grateful for all the things you did for me, but nothing I could come up with ever seemed good enough."  
  
Richard clutches at the older man tightly, trying to hold back the second flow of tears. Till doesn't comment, and he's grateful for it, whether he's pretending not to notice or genuinely hasn't. "I never wanted to hurt you," the singer murmurs softly, brushing away a lock of hair from Richard's forehead. He raises the other's chin up so that they can gaze at each other. "any other time more cheerful than this one and you'd have been the challenge of my life."  
  
What can he say to such beautiful honesty? "I never..." he stammers. "... would have... expected..."  
  
"It would have been irrational of me to expect you to understand all of this without a single bit of explanation. Remember what I just said about how it'd take me days to tell everyone how grateful I am? That can't apply in this case. You utterly defeated me when it comes to words, Richard."  
  
It's nearly too much, what Till's telling him. Richard is being paid the highest compliment that any poet could possibly give anyone and he'd be grateful for that alone as it is. The fact that it is Till who's saying it raises it to heights beyond imagination. He keeps looking at the older man, searching for hints as to whether this might possibly be all a dream or even the vaguest hint of jest in the other's eyes - it's not that he wants it to be, but this is years' worth of truth and trust being spilled out to him and it's more than he can grasp at the moment. Till looks back him with the utmost sincereness and Richard suddenly feels a strange mix of emotions rising inside him, one of confusion, utter ecstasy, understanding and a strong desire to spill out the more-than-friendly feelings he's had towards the singer for ages. He doesn't because he's too eager to hold onto what he's already gained as it is.  
  
"So look at us now... nearly as close as the day we first got together. We'll break up one day, that's inevitable, but it won't be _now_. I will carry on alongside you until come what may," Till pauses a little there, looking directly into the other's eyes, and Richard is left breathless at how tender his gaze is. "and I hope for this to be... the longest goodbye... that I will ever say in a lifetime."  
  
That's all he needs to hear. Richard's lips suddenly tingle, and for a second, just for a second he imagines that he wants to - and maybe that Till wants him to, as well - but he doesn't go through with it. Instead, Richard settles for burying his face in the crook of the other's neck again and exhales contentedly; the last thing he hears is a whispered 'Sleep, Richard,' and he's out like a light.  
  
They've put each other to bed numerous times before, when one of them had been too drunk or otherwise unable to take care of themselves, but this time is very different to the ones that came before. Till stays with him for the entire night, for one thing. Richard clings to him all throughout the night and the older man lets him, even though it seems to be that he's forfeiting his own share of sleep to take care of the guitarist. At half-past six in the morning, Till tucks him in and leaves the room for a while only to come back with a glass of orange juice and some hot, salty soup in a thermos to ease the other's inevitable hangover; Richard wakes up to the sun shining beneath the red curtains (making the place certainly brighter but much easier to bear) and the singer sitting beside him in bed, casually sipping at some water and reading through his notes.  
  
"I got those for you," Till tells him, and when the younger man puts the pieces together he almost bursts into tears again out of surprise and appreciation. It only sinks in then, how everything suddenly seems to have changed for the better; he's so ecstatic about it that he's not even half as hungover as he ought to be. Around midday the other band members come back, and they're just as taken aback by how things between the two men have changed literally overnight.  
  
"Did something happen between you and Till?" Schneider asks Richard when they're alone; the guitarist simply shrugs but he can't stop himself smiling, either. Now he knows how the drummer felt when Till first talked to him.  
  
"He finally opened up to me as well, is all," is the only answer he gives. Schneider's expression is full of questions, and he can see that everyone else is also dying to know what's happened (although they are still immensely happy about this development), but that's all he'll let on. What happened between him and Till is something quite special; Richard takes some pleasure in this secrecy, and judging from the occasional glances that Till gives him, he can see the older man feels the same. In the height of his euphoria, the guitarist feels - for the first time in years - as if things might play out in a significantly better way from now on. And this time, he doesn't experience any doubts about that statement. A true blessing.  
  
\-----  
  
"We're going to write a song together," Till announces, two days later, as he puts down a blank sheet of paper in front of them. "right here. Right now. All six of us."  
  
"For the album?"  
  
"Forget the album for the time being. We're writing a song together. That's all it is, whether it gets recorded or not."  
  
Flake raises an eyebrow, but nevertheless sits himself down properly, grabbing a pen from his pocket and scrutinizing the paper. "What brought this on?"  
  
Till doesn't respond but throws a glance in Richard's direction (prompting a little smile) before sitting next to him. "What would it be about, for starters?" Schneider asks from opposite him, stretching his back slightly.  
  
"I don't have a clue. _What_ do you want it to be about?"  
  
" _Lieber Gott_ , Lindemann," the drummer sighs in faux-exasperation, but his eyes are twinkling. "just because you're back to normal doesn't mean you get to be cryptic as hell again! There needs to be some sort of _idea_ , a form that we can give a meaning to if we want to start, you know none of us have really written a song for ages apart from you," he pauses there, his expression suddenly changing. "hang on..."  
  
"Well, we've already got three in our bag," Paul thinks aloud as he chews the end of his pen. "two obligatory songs about sex and abuse and the soft ballad that we can't decide on the lyrics for. Why don't we... why don't we write one for our fans?"  
  
There falls a silence so thick that one would be able to hear a pin drop. The older guitarist looks around, confused, before he grimaces nervously. "... Did I say something wrong?"  
  
"No, you said just the right thing, actually," Flake says softly. "in fact... what do you say that we go meta and write something dedicated to our fans and ourselves? After all, they have been waiting for about three years now-"  
  
"-and so have we," Olli finishes for him. Without further ado, he delicately plucks out the pen from Flake's hands (the older man doesn't complain) and writes down the very first line of his input. The rest of the band leans in to read what is being written. ' _Ein Weg - ein Ziel - ein Motiv_ ," the bassist murmurs to himself, pauses, and then writes ' _Rammstein_ ' beneath it in brackets.  
  
"Leave out the brackets, we'll use it. And let's put a hyphen halfway through," Till suggests, nodding in approval, and does exactly that. "it fits the meter better if there's a pause. What _else_ are we?"  
  
Richard, observing, is quite surprised at how everyone is jumping in with suggestions. Paul and Schneider don't get to contribute very often, and Richard's efforts have lessened in recent years. _This_ is certainly a bonding event if nothing else is.  
  
 _'What else are we?'  
  
One direction - one feeling, of flesh, of blood - one collective._  
  
"I'll add to it too," he offers, and then throws himself into it along with the others. And just like that, everyone is working on their own little section and throwing about bits of advice and corrections, stitching together a message to their fans and themselves. Till is leading them when it comes to basics like meter and rhyme, his low voice testing each line methodically. Apart from that, not only are they working from basically nothing, all of them are actually contributing evenly to this song. A far cry from when Till would just come back with pages of lyrics now and then and ask Olli for an initial bassline before asking for further suggestions. Soon even their talk begins to die down as the song takes shape, only the frantic scribbling of pens and the occasional murmur breaking their sacred silence. It is not until this moment that Richard realizes that Till's mutism has been a blessing in disguise, that it's helped them bond in a way that they haven't imagined before. It's not just about being a collected entity known as Rammstein - but as human beings and close friends first and foremost.  
  
It is four hours later and one o'clock in the morning when they finally collapse, tangled in a mass of limbs and empty bottles of schnapps, shockingly exhausted and yet perfectly sane in their elation. It is Olli who gets a new sheet of paper and writes up their established lyrics due to his significantly more elegant and legible handwriting, and when he's finished, they all stare down at the lyric sheet and the paper they were making all their corrections in, silently comparing the two.  
  
" _Perfekt_ ," the usually-critical Flake finally manages to say, Till grins widely in response, and that makes it final as far as the rest of them are concerned. Out of every song they will work on for their sixth album during the following months, it is this one that takes them the least amount of time, and the collective look of pride and affection on the other's faces is something that Richard will remember for years on end.  
  
He is especially proud of his contribution: four lines making up a verse, repeated at the very beginning and at the very end.  
  
 _The one who waits with prudence  
Will be rewarded at the right time!  
Well, the waiting has ended..._  
  
The last line is his favourite: simple but powerful, a proud declaration to all and a secret ode to one at once. Richard takes much pride in it.  
  
 _Lend your ears - to a legend!_  
  
\-----  
  
"Risch, pass me the stein over there, would you, _bitte_?"  
  
"Sure thing," Richard says and does so from the side table, which is loaded with a variety of drinks. Paul thanks him as he accepts the drink, sitting himself down next to the younger guitarist; they both sit there in mutual silence, happy and feeling contented. It is early November and less than a month since their sixth album, 'Liebe ist für alle da' came out to great fanfare and critical reception - along with a generous dose of controversy as well, just the way they like it. They've just finished the first gig of the first tour they've been on since 2005 and Richard thinks that he can't be the only one who's missed this feeling for the past few years. The love from the fans has been practically tangible that evening. "are you feeling okay then, Paul?"  
  
"I'm beat," but the older man's grinning happily. "but I feel better than I have for quite a while. You?"  
  
"Much of the same. Looking forward to tomorrow, really."  
  
"What, for the dinner that Till and Flake promised if this thing ended up being censored?"  
  
Richard sniggers in response. "Pfft. There's that too, of course! But really, I just missed touring. I nearly forgot how good it felt to stand in front of all those people and perform - and it's much better, actually having new songs and stunts as well," he leans back, his gaze shifting from the other's face to around the room. The rest of the bandmates are scattered about, clearly just as in high spirits as both he and Paul are. Even Flake's laughing and lightheartedly talking to people. "I think I'm _really_ going to enjoy this tour."  
  
The older guitarist follows Richard's gaze, which is now resting on Till's form (who's chatting amicably to the roadies and dabbing at his forehead with a towel). Unbeknownst to Richard himself, the sight's making him smile a little - seeing this, Paul hesitates for only a second before he casually leans towards the younger man.  
  
"So... have you told Till yet?" Paul asks quietly, keeping his voice very low in the way that he does when he's being particularly serious. Richard flinches at the remark and stares at him nervously.  
  
"Told... told him _what_?"  
  
"Well, you still like him, right?" he gestures in Till's direction with his stein, but doesn't look away from Richard. "so did you tell him that when he recovered?"  
  
"... I don't understand what you're talking about, Paul, of course I _like_ Till. 'Still' doesn't come into it! It would have been a problem if I didn't like him at any point."  
  
Paul gazes at him for several seconds before chuckling and slapping him on the shoulder. "Oh, no. That's not what I meant, Risch! You can be so innocent sometimes!" Richard is completely at a loss for words and is struggling to think of a response before he is briefly saved by the presence of Olli coming over and sitting beside them.  
  
"Far too crowded where I was at, hope you don't mind me joining you. What are you guys talking about?"  
  
"Risch and Till," Paul answers, not expanding on any further - it could mean anything in that form. But the lingering fear in Richard's heart is confirmed when understanding dawns on the bassist's face.  
  
"Oh," he says. "that."  
  
Before Richard can even inquire as to what the hell is going on, Olli stands up and gestures for the two of them to follow him. Paul drags the younger guitarist along by one wrist, drink still in one hand, and together they find an empty dressing room where Olli securely closes the door and sits down on a stool. "Three's a crowd," he says matter-of-factly as if that explains everything. "better off here where we won't be joined by anyone else."  
  
"Would either of you please explain what the _hell_ is going on already? What are-"  
  
"Oh, Risch, stop teasing us! You know what already. Six albums, fifteen years and still not a word? I swear-" Paul takes a sip of his beer while saying this, his voice light and casual; but when he sees the confused expression on Richard's face he immediately falters. "- no way," he breathes, looking genuinely in disbelief. "don't tell me... you haven't figured it out?"  
  
The younger guitarist sighs in frustration. "Figure _what_ out?"  
  
"Why, you're in love with Till, right?" Olli says, raising his eyebrow.  
  
Richard is completely speechless for the second time that night. Olli has spelled things out for him in such an unexpectedly matter-of-fact tone of voice, and Paul looks just as calm that he can't quite grasp it properly yet. He can't even shake his head to deny it.  
  
"I... I don't know, I mean... how..." he speaks up, his mouth feeling dry. "how long have you known? Who else knows?"  
  
Not the best of questions, but Olli and Paul look so relieved to see that he's not in denial that he doesn't try to amend it. "It has to be at least five years, probably more," the bassist says softly. "Flake saw it first - he told us that he could see hints of it when we started touring after our first break. We haven't... well, we've never gotten together and _discussed_ it or anything, but I think everyone except for you and Till knew by the time your divorce was finalized."  
  
"And it wouldn't be preposterous to say that maybe Till felt the same all along, actually. From the way he's acted in the past, it probably stretches back to even before you got married. He's probably just not about to make the first move." Paul adds. Richard sighs.  
  
"So everyone except for me has a concrete idea of my feelings towards Till. Even _he_ probably knows about it."  
  
"Very likely."  
  
"Ah."  
  
An awkward silence falls between the three of them as Richard tries to process what this means for the band. He probably should be asking for clarification as to where Paul and Olli are getting this assumption from, that perhaps Till feels the same. But all he wants to know, really, is why Till never said anything about any of this if he really knew. Sure, the guitarist hasn't done a very good job of hiding his feelings, especially in their last encounter; for all he knows, though, Till's understood for over a decade. That would place things quite some years before his ill-fated marriage, when Richard himself hadn't even _thought_ about the possibility that he might have been in love with the singer, which offsets things by a significant amount. The thought of Till reciprocating, though, gives him a brief surge of hope followed by a strange emptiness. "Well... erm, that's good enough, isn't it?"  
  
Paul looks at him, seemingly startled. "What is?"  
  
"If Till knows... that's good enough, right? I mean, I'm certainly not about to jump straight in and grab him by the collar and insist that we're _soulmates_ or anything like that, Caron was bad enough. We're middle-aged - we can't really go and blunder on about stuff like this. If it's mutual... that should be okay by itself, shouldn't it?"  
  
Olli lets out a small 'oh' at this remark, while Paul stares at him incredulously. "Risch... well, I can't tell you your business, but this kind of thing is really not what you'd just pass off as mutual and keep silent about. Of course you've got to _tell_ him. Don't you think that it's precisely because we're middle-aged that you've got a responsibility to tell him before time runs out?"  
  
"Well, then why hasn't he told me? He's older than I am, and if he knew all along..."  
  
"Till's probably taken a similar approach to you," the bassist stands up and walks over to a makeup table, checking his face in the mirror. "let's face it, you had it pretty damn hard the last few years because of your ex-wife and other things. Till went through the same things as you did, but earlier, and he's had a lot of time to heal and express himself so it doesn't show that much. He'd have known exactly what you felt. And he's a sensitive man, I doubt he would have wanted to spring that on you so soon after your divorce when he understood your situation too well. He probably wanted to approach you even less when we were going through that rough patch, who knows what kind of misunderstanding might have occurred? Denial might have been involved, too."  
  
"Hang on," Richard interrupts, holding up a hand. "I'm not... really grasping this yet. I should have asked earlier. How did you figure _him_ out? I certainly haven't..."  
  
Paul swirls the last bit of his drink around his stein and downs it, setting it down on the table. "Anyone with half an eye could see it, really. Maybe you and Till were just so constantly in contact with each other that you never noticed small changes in his behavior. But I'd figured that you'd at least gained some inkling of his feelings, a couple of years back, when you brought up Emigrate and he completely lost it on you."  
  
"That was meant to be a _hint_? Jesus, Paul, Till absolutely terrified me back then!"  
  
" _He_ was terrified of losing _you_ ," the older guitarist says pointedly. "you weren't there when he was ranting and raving about approving Emigrate over his dead body. Yes, that's what happened before you came over to Flake's that time, and when me and Doom met him at that bar - he told us about arguing with you back then, too. Now you know. You explaining yourself probably did him a lot of good, even if you two ended up arguing."  
  
Olli turns away from the mirror and stands with his hands in his pockets. "Emigrate aside, I thought just the way he acted around you in general was enough of a hint, Risch. ('I second that', says Paul) The look that he gives you when you play your solos onstage. How he likes to sit next to you and keep you company during after-concert parties and whenever we go anywhere by plane - Flake and I've seen him amend entire bookings for that, you know. How he doesn't even want to do any interviews in case they ask him something about you that he doesn't feel that he should respond to - not like he likes interviews _anyway_ , but I'm sure that's a big reason. There are all sorts of things."  
  
Richard is silent as he thinks about all of those things. He can't honestly say that he ever noticed Till giving him looks onstage, having always thought that their interaction during performances had dwindled significantly after his marriage and had never really recovered. Given that he's always too engrossed in playing his guitar, that's another reason as to why he might not have noticed. But the more he thinks about it, the better what Olli and Paul said fits into his memories. He doesn't even really remember flights or bar parties in the past few years when Till _didn't_ end up sitting next to him. He's not sure what to feel about this except for a vaguely unsettling realization that all of this happened right in front of all his bandmates, who were watching and observing for all of those years. If all of those things played a part in their collective reluctance to confront either Till or Richard during the former's period of silence-  
  
As if his mind's been read, he feels Paul's hand squeeze gently on his shoulder. "We certainly wouldn't mind, Risch. We never have," he says with his characteristic smile, so bright and honest that the guitarist can't help but nod back. "we've been wondering whether Till or you would make the first move for quite some time now. Doom even has a bet going with Olli."  
  
" _What?!_ "  
  
Olli rolls his eyes. "Trust you not to keep anything like that quiet, Paul! You let onto every secret _but_ the most important ones. Don't worry about it, Risch," he says quickly, seeing the unreadable expression on the other's face. "it doesn't involve money. That'd be tactless beyond belief, putting monetary value on the relationship between you and him - if Till confessed first, I'd have to maintain and shine his drumkit for a week and vice versa with my bass if you were the first to let it on."  
  
"So technically Doom's lost that bet," Paul says.  
  
"I don't even think I'll pursue it, though," the bassist says while standing up. "a silly bet that me and Doom created a whole year ago doesn't matter to anyone else, and even if we both kept to it, it'd cease to be relevant after a week. You and Till working out is a completely serious matter. How could we measure your relationship in the scale of who's got the shiniest musical instrument in the band? Till has eyes only for you. We've all known him for long enough to notice. Be good to him, all right?"  
  
For someone who isn't even in their forties yet, Olli sure understands the grievances of his bandmates who are. Richard nods blankly before his mind registers what's been said, and he downcasts his eyes. "I... well, I don't know _how_ to be good to Till, Olli. I really don't. _Good_ doesn't describe what I've been like to him all of those years, and that's really rich coming from me - I promised him from the very beginning that I wouldn't let him be unhappy, and look what good that's done. Months and years of making him suffer with me because I couldn't keep my own problems to myself, and after that I didn't even know how to help him for a long time until recently. And Till... really deserves somebody who isn't a complete and utter bastard to him. He'll be fifty before any of us will be, he's hardly going to want to play around with stray feelings by that point, and he really doesn't need the crap that he gets put through all the time as it is. You'd agree there."  
  
"Of course we agree," Paul answers kindly. "and that somebody is you because you _aren't_ a complete and utter bastard. We've been playing alongside you for fifteen years. Do you think we'd have _let_ you become an asshole? If you'd turned out to be one, that would have been our failure too, as much as yours. Till wouldn't have looked at you twice. You haven't failed."  
  
Olli adds to this with a nod - "Risch, you said it yourself just now. You might not have known how to help him 'until recently', but it probably matters to Till more that you've gotten it now. As for the other side of things, I wouldn't say that he was completely and utterly flawless regarding you either. But it's worked out, hasn't it? You can just see it in his eyes. Till's a much happier man now, Risch, there's no need to worry. Why would he have bounced back so quickly otherwise?"  
  
Richard looks at them for a few seconds and casts his eyes downwards, a little flushed at the compliment. Things are moving so fast; his worldview has gone through yet another major change and it's only taken five minutes or so. And yet he knows not to question his bandmates' confidence, knows that they're sincere - snapshots of events from his past are flickering in his head, and suddenly he realizes that what he's never dared to state with utter conviction before makes plain, perfect sense now: _I am in love with Till Lindemann_. Along with that realization comes the adjacent re-interpretation of everything his bandmates had been doing in the past years: the way all of them had tried to keep Till from him as long as possible back during the row about Emigrate, the way Olli had looked at him while they'd been dealing with a drunk and passed out Till in the bedroom, Flake's constant mediating between them, how they had all taken the blame for the singer's mutism first so that Richard would not have to suffer alone, even how they would always either leave a room that the two were in or occupy it according to the atmosphere. He looks up, a little smile tugging on the corners of his mouth, and sees that both Olli and Paul are smiling back encouragingly at him.  
  
"You might not be an angel, Risch, but you'll be good to Till. Perfect, even. We've been together for a very long time and we can see it. We know."  
  
"Supposing that you actually _tell_ the poor guy within the next century," Paul chuckles, and gets tugged into a playful wrestling match with Richard in response. That's the way the conversation ends, with the three of them walking back to the main room afterwards, casually laughing and joking around. None of them mention it again that night. But while they're all back in the tour bus, driving overnight to their next destination, Richard does find himself thinking over everything as he lies in his bunk. He's agonized about whether what he felt for the singer was really love for years - but this time, no matter how much he tries to raise questions again, the objections he had before simply refuse to come. It's just a fact now, something that became truth without his knowledge. God knows if he can pinpoint exactly when, but that's not important.  
  
His realization is not without quite a bit of regret, however. When he thinks of Till or performs alongside him, he keeps himself extra alert to the things that Paul and Olli told him about, just to see if they're true. Within a gig or two he has to concede that they are, that the singer _does_ throw him approving glances and brush up against him when he thinks Richard isn't paying much attention. Richard also notices the way Flake and Schneider respectfully try to give them as much room as possible (along with the fact that Olli gains a suspiciously bright shine to his bass for about a week after their initial discussion, despite what he said then). They've cared for Till, they've cared for Richard individually - and they were indeed being considerate for the feelings between them all along. An eye-opener. This makes him very happy, but at the same time a little sad because he spent so much time not noticing any of this. He can't deny that things have worked out well, perhaps better than they would have if he'd noticed beforehand, but Richard is forty-two years old now and he does feel a little melancholy when he thinks of the years that - for the lack of a better word - have essentially been wasted. They're simply not young anymore, and his wistful mind can't help but think that he should have made a move earlier.  
  
But slowly, he comes to terms with the fact that this was in no way a bad thing. He couldn't stop Till, back in their 'Rosenrot' days. He couldn't stop Till getting older any more than he could stop himself; he understands now that that was the natural thing to do, that there was no point holding onto a past form of the singer and that it was good enough that they were tied together during the years, every step of the way. When Richard became depressed and angry, Till would take care of Khira Li for him, bring him meals, and when the younger man went through his divorce he'd offered his silence and acceptance to speed up his healing. When Till was going through his own depression and anger afterwards, the experience he'd gained before from the older man had helped; Richard had given him the little things to appreciate, had been the first in many occasions to reach out or make physical contact, and when he was angry he would not react by throwing a fit as before, preferring to think of the singer first no matter how much he wanted to lash out. In hundreds of tiny ways Till had taught him care, he had taught him control, and Richard had never realized that he was learning. He's been struggling all along with relatively minor but abrasive feelings, when the most important things were there all along; they had all come to him as naturally as breathing or eating, and he had treated all of those occasions as if they were nothing but that - natural and unquestionable - without realizing that those things were the ones that affirmed his bond to Till in the first place.  
  
 _Well, I've sorted myself out. What about Till?_  
  
Truthfully, he can't raise his head high and say that Till feels exactly the same for him and that there's nothing left but for them to be together now. Years' worth of cautiousness doesn't just evaporate like that, and Richard knows this because he's been hurt many times before as well. Once bitten, twice shy. Trust takes years to build up but seconds to destroy. The bond that they have is strong, far stronger than any other bond they will ever create with anyone else even if they lived another forty-plus years. It is also too precious, still far too fragile to risk destroying, and that's the last thing either of them would ever want. Not something that should be jumped into without thought, because as Richard himself noted before, they're middle-aged. There's no time to play around with stray feelings and petty arguments. Better to consolidate their emotions completely, even if it takes more years, or not make a move at all. If he does make a move, though, he won't let time run out. That much is clear.  
  
After all those years of tension, some might wonder why he's even holding on, why he's persistently walking along a knife edge when it's still not too late for him to seek a much less complicated relationship. He's not that old yet. People might tell him that he can do better, he could go for someone who's more beautiful or handsome - someone _better adjusted_. A decade ago, he really hadn't done badly in that regard with Caron. But if people said that to him now, he'd simply shake his head and say no, he can't. Of course Caron had been absolutely beautiful. Richard had high standards then, and nothing much has changed now. But then every single woman he had ever been with, for however long, had been beautiful; dressed in beautiful clothes, living in beautiful houses, laughing, talking and smiling ever so beautifully. Even he is a beautiful man for his age; his body is still very lean and fit, and he's still considered very handsome and charming. Caron, other groupies, his countless fans, himself, becoming slowly natureless in their combined beauty.  
  
Till isn't beautiful. He certainly doesn't have a pretty face like Schneider or Richard. He's still tall, strong, the very image of manliness; but it would be a stretch to call him _beautiful_ with his curiously mismatched features and an almost nonchalant unkemptness. And even then, it might not last very long. Richard has seen the other's hairline recede a little in recent times, and how he looks rather washed out and thin after performances compared to before - age isn't being particularly kind to his stamina, if not his looks. But because of that, his charm is more clearly highlighted along with the individual little bits of beauty that he does possess - his eyes have only become _more_ clear and expressive recently, his lips more lovingly defined by age and the occasional stubble, and his voice has matured to such an extent that listening to him can provoke unexpected surges of emotion at any time. Till's soul shows through his every word, every movement - every time the singer as much as looks in his direction, it's obvious that he truly understands the younger man - and all this adds up to Richard wanting him so much that he feels as if his heart is about to burst.  
  
Thoughts that he had only ever guiltily entertained before flood into his mind with far more ease nowadays, especially seeing as Richard isn't attempting to push them away anymore: Till lacing his fingers through his own, running his lips over his forehead and cheeks, kissing him full on the mouth, holding them both in his strong embrace as they lie naked in bed and get to the final stage of genuinely knowing everything about one another. Those intrusive thoughts make Richard blush often, especially that last one, and they're certainly quite embarrassing thoughts to have onstage when a shirtless and sweat-slicked Till is often singing right next to him. And despite all this, Richard quite likes it because even though he might feel like a blushing schoolgirl it means he's come to terms with the extent of his feelings. It's about time he stopped struggling with them.  
  
The only threat to their relationship are themselves. He understands that now.  
  
But that doesn't mean that it's the time to go to him and declare his feelings out loud. They're in the midst of a tour for one thing, a tour that looks like it will last a good long while - and there's no sense in unbalancing the dynamics of the band in the middle of it. Once he confesses, things might or might not be better for them both, but things _will_ change in irreversible ways; he doesn't know whether that will benefit their current situation, and knows that this is not the time to take the risk. He still has his daughter to take care of when he's not on tour, things to sort out and clean up. Richard does want to talk to Till again, desperately so, but he's wise enough to know that this isn't quite the time yet. Nevertheless, they've overcome a major obstacle in their relationship, and when Till gives him one of those smiles of his or lets his hand brush against Richard's skin, the guitarist wants to hold his hand and look into his green eyes and say: _you know me, Till Lindemann, and I know you. Perhaps we might not find out absolutely everything about each other right now, and probably not ever, but I will never meet anyone who will ever know me better than you do. What we know is more than enough._  
  
In a couple of years those words will mean so much more to both of them, but now is not the time to say it.  
  
 _You know me, Till._  
  
It'd be like telling the sea that it was wet.  
  
So Richard closes his eyes and strums his guitar and every time he hears Till sing something inside him aches with a fond longing - and he lets it happen because it is the natural way things should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Till talks enough to make up for his silence in the past two chapters and possibly to even rival Richard's chatterbox tendencies in the entire fic, I think. I was so terrified that this was going to derail him altogether and still kind of do. Drowning in sap, practically. But after all they've gone through I think we need the sap. I need the sap. My God. And yes, the song they write together is 'Rammlied'! I'm aware that this still doesn't answer the question of whether they get together or not - it could go both ways, basically. I can confirm that nobody dies and nothing suddenly takes a downturn. If they don't, then I will make it as beautiful as my sleep deprived brain can make it. If they do, I will do the same.
> 
> Perhaps due to my nonlinear writing style (I do things like writing out endings and bits of the middle first), a lot of things in this story became important in hindsight. Some I planned from the start and some I made up as I went along, are one of the things that I did intend was the significance of names. How people refer to each other in this story is important; I already explained this with the Schneider/Doom issue in Ch. 6, but I've added more onto it as the fic progressed. Band members deliberately calling Till 'Dietrich' in moments of annoyance, anger or even desperation would be one of them, considering that he doesn't like this name and it's a way to provoke a reaction. And you might have noticed that in the first chapter, Till uses 'Richard' before moving onto making use of 'Risch' like everyone else. Names are linked to intimacy and formality is the simplest way I can put it - using a name that one doesn't like or feels uncomfortable about (i.e. 5/6 of Rammstein members) creates feelings of stiff, cold unease like Schneider constantly felt around Till, regardless of intent. Richard doesn't mind his name, however, and his full name is reminiscent of how things used to be, so that's actually added intimacy. 
> 
> I originally added this theme simply because I just love how 'Richard' sounds in the Germanic form - using slightly guttural or pleasantly trilled 'r's with a light, hard-'ch' at the back of the throat, and the 'd' at the end is also a hard sound - 'Rikh-hart' is the closest approximation in spoken German, and 'Reesh-hart' in theatrical/sung German. And now I sound creepy as hell so I'll stop. The epilogue will be coming soon, and hopefully it won't be as difficult to write. Please review!


	9. 'Führe mich... halte mich...'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: I do not know any of the members of Rammstein; this is strictly a work of fiction that does not intend to profit nor present its portrayal of the band's lives as fact.**
> 
> Finally, after days of waiting, the epilogue! This thing is longer than Ch. 8 I kid you not. I won't spoil, but I would recommend that you listen to 'Herzeleid' the album while reading this. Carry right on ahead!

**Silence (Epilogue) -** _'Führe mich... halte mich...'_  
  
\----------------------------  
  
A major change is what he needed in his life. Richard looks back at what used to be his house, shrugs, and turns away. The year is 2011 and he's leaving New York City; too many memories that he ought to put behind him reside there. It's about time that he laid them to rest, because they will persist as long as he is there and he's not getting any younger. He should leave them behind. He thinks of Caron and feels a surge of regret for not being the best he could have been - they would have never worked out either way, it wasn't meant to be, but at first all he thought of were the things he could have given her and done for her and never did. He could have been a better person, looking back on his life he sees so many lost opportunities - but they are times long gone by, and he should move on once and for all.  
  
They're over and done with the 'Liebe Ist Für Alle Da' tour at last. It's taken them a lot longer than expected, the tour was too popular to quit within a year - and while he's definitely had fun, Richard is glad for it. He's spent the earlier quarter of 2011 sending and moving things back to Berlin for brief storage, and doing this at the same time as touring various countries was certainly no easy feat. But his house is sold now, he's only got enough possessions on him to fill up a room or two, and it is with those items that he will return to Germany in person. New York City is not the right place for him to be at this present time; the flight is early tomorrow morning, and he's already feeling excited about it.   
  
He is forty-four this year; not young, but not too old. Still plenty of time left. He goes into a small nondescript cafe and asks for an espresso, sitting down with the brew and watching the people pass by outside. From inside of his jacket he fishes out a letter, carefully folded into quarters, and smoothes it out with one hand. Reading the words there brings a faint, longing smile to his lips, and he runs his hand over the paper lightly, stroking it tenderly as if he would a lover. This is the sixth letter he's received from the sender in the past two months, and that's not counting the pages of poems that came along with the letters in their envelopes. It's a new form of communication that they're trying out instead of calling all the time - letters are less instantaneous and utterly agonizing to wait for, but contain more substance within. Thinking about that brings back a memory from a long time ago, which makes him smile again.  
  
He still has the basket that Till made just for him, when he was thirty-one and Richard was twenty-seven and both were very much _jeune encore_. He's always kept it in good condition, sometimes giving it a dust down and always handling it carefully, so it still has its polished glow and isn't unraveled in the slightest. It's tarnished with age a little, of course, but that adds character. What the basket held when it was first presented to him is long gone now, but over the years Richard has kept little things like stage makeup, pills, coins and guitar picks in it. Now he keeps letters in there, letters and poems from Till, and he doesn't think that he'll change the contents in that basket from now on. It's found its true purpose after a seventeen-year journey.  
  
Richard's on his way to discover his own.  
  
Of course he has a purpose right now; he is Richard Z. Kruspe, the lead guitarist and backup vocalist of Rammstein. But he's a human being, not a simple basket, and the things that he's got to do in life are considerably more complex. Eventually Rammstein will break up, none of the six can keep going on forever, and he's got to have something that's beyond just being a guitarist when Rammstein is no more than a bunch of records, DVDs and a legend that will live on in the hearts of millions.  
  
He asked Till once what he planned to do when he was no longer in his forties. "I'd retire when I'm fifty," he'd replied with a small frown, pausing what he was doing and nibbling the end of his pen slightly. "I can't carry on for too long, as you'd know. I'd spend some time with the kids. Take up writing as a full-time job. A little too late to weave baskets now," he'd smiled at the younger man, making his heart skip a beat. "even though life was much simpler back then. But I know Rammstein will break up if I leave, so I'd... want to save those thoughts for when we all agree that we're pretty spent. That's all I can think of for now."  
  
"But we can't carry on the entire band if you don't feel up to it," Richard had answered quietly. "you say it'd be selfish for you to leave when we're still good to go, but I think it'd be even more selfish of us to keep going when you're finding things difficult. Our breakup is inevitable; we all know that we can't maintain the band forever. That's not a choice, Keeping you contented _is_ a choice and one I think that we all agree on." Till had only smiled at him gratefully before going back to work, and it had been a beautiful afternoon that day, the sunlight streaking across the windowsill and across the singer's dark hair.  
  
If things go as Till says, he has two years to go before he retires. They might as well establish their future now, when they have learnt enough from the past and when they still have enough time.   
  
It's time to go back to Berlin, where it all started.  
  
\-----  
  
Richard thinks about a lot of things whenever he's on a plane. This time is no different. He can't smoke in a plane, and he's not one who can sleep or read easily in one either, so over the years he's learnt to think intensely for hours at a time with his eyes closed. It saves him a lot of ennui. The flight attendant comes over with a tray of water, orange juice and coke - he declines politely and leans back into the seat instead, letting out a quiet sigh as he thinks of what's happened since they first started the tour and what's waiting for him when he lands.  
  
A lot of things have happened, band activity-wise, even disregarding the tour. Three videos out from this album alone, and while they were touring too - they've been very busy. Till's really outdone himself this time, both with his work ethic and with his stunts. He's somehow developed another side to his masochistic tendencies - apart from loving the pain of being burnt, he's also become quite fond of having piercings as well. He keeps having little piercings on his body that just heal up later, and he lets it happen because he likes the ache that comes with it. Till actually pierced his cheek and had a wire drawn through it so that they could shoot one music video; he had an LED glowing in his mouth for ages afterwards, the thick black wire for it running straight through his cheek, and when he didn't have the light in he would take a mouthful of liquid and shoot it out of the hole and find it most childishly amusing. Richard winces at the memory of how inflamed that piercing became at times, and he certainly remembers being very glad when Till lost the plug for it and it closed up (much to his chagrin) - but thinking of the man being so dedicated to his art and deriving so much amusement from what must have been a terribly painful endeavour still brings a smile to his face. His judgment of Till's character nearly two decades ago haven't proved wrong in the slightest - always a hard worker, indeed.  
  
Everyone else has also been fairly respectful about the relationship between Till and Richard. They have been giving the guitarist sly looks and knowing smiles after shows - there hasn't been another talk about it from anyone for sure, but he can see that they're all waiting patiently for something to happen. Richard is a little embarrassed but at the same time quite grateful that they are being so considerate - he doesn't know if they've done the same with Till, it would give the game away to do such things in the presence of the guitarist, but he doesn't doubt it somehow. Richard checks his watch - he should be in Berlin within an hour. Sure enough, the seatbelt signs come on, indicating that landing will take place soon.   
  
Till himself hasn't been approaching the younger man onstage too much, no more than necessary, but every now and then he's given Richard small touches on the hand or a little quirk of the lips to show that the guitarist is very much always on his mind. He's been doing much of the same, and as a result, the excitable tension between them has only grown more than ever. Richard is making his way to Berlin partially so that he can do something about this; when he'd told Schneider of his plans for the future, keeping his voice lighthearted and mentioning no names, the drummer had been rather ecstatic at the implications. That alone had been enough to muster up his courage.  
  
Finally, the most important thing - his daughter's flown the nest, headed off to start living life the way she wants to live. He's spent so much time worrying about her and giving her a proper family life, but Khira Li's grown up to be a fine young woman, and for the first time since he began fatherhood he can truly look back and tell himself that he's proud of what he's managed to do. This is the most important reason why Richard's left New York City - he wouldn't have considered it if she still needed to live close to him in the first place. But now that she's gone and the house is cold and empty, with neither of them having been extremely fond of it in the first place, there's no reason to stay anymore. So he's just packed up and left to find a place closer to _his_ and Khira Li's birthplace, and that brings him back to why he's sitting in this plane.  
  
The plane touches down and he almost stands up before they've come to a full stop; he's eager to get out and retrieve his luggage and hurry on his way. But he makes himself wait and savor the moment, taking in the sight of the airport coming into view; it's a sight that he's seen many times before, but it feels strangely special this time around. Perhaps it might be because for the first time in years, Germany is no longer just a place that he'd visit every now and then. He joins the queue of people disembarking from the plane and goes through the process of making his way through the terminals, having his passport checked and retrieving his luggage. It's a godsend that this airport is the highlight of Germanic efficiency because everything is a short, simple walk away and nothing is laid out in an overtly confusing manner. Richard steps outside the doors with his luggage, the warm early June breeze of Berlin caressing his cheek - and lets out a sigh. The familiar scent and the surprisingly-clear air refreshes and cheers him so much that he doesn't even reach for a cigarette this time. During this pause comes a little sound from his pockets - he rummages around, taking out his phone and smiling a little at the caller's name before he answers.  
  
" _Hallo?_ " Richard speaks out loud. "it's me... _Ja_ , I've just landed in Berlin-Tegel... Give me half an hour or a little bit more, I'll be with you then. Are you sure you don't mind...? Ah," he nods, smiling to himself. "mmm, _danke_. Half an hour, then. _Bis bald, Till_."  
  
As he walks out of the airport and towards the car rental place next to it, pulling his luggage along, he finds himself feeling surprisingly lighthearted despite the fact that he's carrying a few rather heavy things. He'll be staying with Till for a little bit while he finds himself a place to live nearby. He'd all been set up for staying at an inn or hotel, but Till had offered to house him for a 'month or more, as long as he helped out with the bills', and he'd taken up the offer in a heartbeat. The timing could not have been more perfect; an entire month alone with Till, no one and nothing to get in the way - it's exactly what he needed. He's not felt this light and happy in quite a while, and he almost feels like a young man again as he begins to whistle a familiar tune. A very familiar tune, for that matter; he'd know, because he wrote it himself ever so long ago. One of the standard Rammstein repertoires, too; 'Engel' was the first thing that the guitarist ever wrote that felt truly like his, even though he does still think that he wrote much more elegantly for Emigrate. Really, though, Till singing this song is one of his favourite moments during a gig, and it never gets old, even though he's seen it so much that he could probably go through that segment blindfolded and still not miss a single beat. This is also counting the fact that this segment has gone through frequent rewrites, sometimes in the middle of tours, and it still wouldn't make a single bit of difference.   
  
The most recent incarnation of 'Engel' is Richard's favourite, and certainly (in his opinion) one of the best stunts they've ever devised in their entire time together. Till with huge metal wings that unfold and are set aflame throughout the song - some might think it ridiculous from just that description alone, but the sheer largeness of those wings, how they almost brush against the guitarists' backs when they open wide and how perfect they are for Till cannot be expressed in words alone. It's almost a shame that Richard can't just turn his back on the audience to stare at the older man through the entire performance of 'Engel', but he's caught enough glimpses of the full picture and has felt the heat from those wings whipping at his body and that is quite something as it is. Till's voice during this song, having matured to a greater extent since they made 'Sehnsucht' fourteen years back, is now strongly reminiscent almost of a Lucifer before the fall; the look in his eyes, blazing with emotion and the flames being reflected in them, always makes Richard's heart skip a beat. It is the definitive segment of their shows and they probably won't ever change it.  
  
Richard goes through the process of renting a car surprisingly quickly; everything's running like clockwork. God must be helping him somehow. He's not slept in over fifteen hours and he should be exhausted, but he certainly doesn't feel it. As he turns the key in the ignition and heads in the direction of Till's flat, the pleasant summer breeze tickling his face as he drives along, he looks at the sun reflecting off the green leaves on the trees alongisde the road and is reminded of the ethereal look in Till's face as he sang 'Engel' in the final performance of their tour not a week ago.   
  
_'Gott weiß ich will kein Engel sein!'_  
  
He won't need to be. Till might as well already be one on earth. That's how Richard sees it.  
  
\-----  
  
About twenty minutes after the phone call, Richard is ringing the bell to Till's flat, and the door opens mere seconds later as if the man had been standing behind it all along. From the way the door handle simply turns and opens, it wasn't even locked.  
  
"I thought you were going to be half an hour?" Till inquires humorously from the doorway, wearing simple black trousers and a buttoned-up shirt like he always wears at home. The side of his left eyebrow is pierced as usual but he doesn't look as if he's gained any more in the few days that they've been apart. Richard smiles without a reply, standing opposite him and taking his figure in away from the harsh stage lighting and the various costumes, thinking of the time when Till was simply a quiet basket-weaver. The older man has certainly aged well. "do come in. I'll help carry those."  
  
"Oh, there's no need," Richard says as he pulls his luggage indoors. _This is it_ , he thinks as he steps into the door and into Till's flat, _I will be with him for the next month_. The older man wordlessly lead the way to what will be Richard's room for a while - he opens the door, revealing a clean room decorated in a simple and pleasing manner. There's a small bookshelf, mostly empty, with only a few notebooks and other hardbacks in it - the younger man is delighted to see that these are some of Till's own personal notebooks that he's filled in sometime during the past years, it can only mean the utmost trust from his part to leave them with Richard. The bed is a double and is white and clean, and there is a desk and chair with lamp as the singer always demands in a bedroom. Overall, it is a blank slate of a room, ready to be filled with the guitarist's possessions, but nevertheless given that characteristic Till touch. It's a pleasant thing to come and find for sure.  
  
"So," Richard takes a deep breath and lets it out quietly, looking around the flat. "I came back."  
  
"Yes," Till says. "looks like you have."  
  
Pause.  
  
"But I like you with your hair spiked up better."  
  
This eases the tension and they both laugh, relaxing almost immediately. It really is strange how things work out in the end. Seventeen years ago Till had been alone in his workshop, weaving baskets, with Richard visiting him occasionally. Nearly twenty years have passed, and they've ended up with each other for company, back here again. Not quite the same flat and workshop and they've changed a lot in those years, but a lot more than they would have thought haven't changed in the slightest.   
  
During the tour, both Till and Richard had kept to themselves mostly, only giving each other the occasional glances and keeping up the casual facade in public. But they have let things develop in their own way - Richard deliberately positioning himself closer to Till onstage, making it more clear that he was aware of the singer's approaches, and other things. Almost like a long, extended game, a puzzle where the pieces were coming into focus and slowly being fitted together. Things fell into place in a more clear way when he'd mentioned that he was coming back to live in Germany to Till while they were alone in the dressing rooms, earlier in the year, and that he wasn't sure what to do about the housing plans - and Till's response to that had been a simple, immediate: _Come live with me. Just help out with the bills, and it's no problem_. No objections whatsoever from Richard's part had been made, and Till had said it in such a way that he didn't invite any objections in the first place.   
  
"I'm thankful for this, really. I hope I'm not imposing on you, Till."  
  
"You're not imposing at all," Till chuckles; he rummages in his pockets and taking out a pack of cigarettes. "are there any more bags that are coming through?"  
  
Richard nods. "Just a couple more things, my guitars are stored elsewhere in Berlin. Don't need to worry about those. Some other bits will be delivered tomorrow or the day after to here. If you don't mind that, of course."  
  
"Give me a light?" Till asks him, leaning against the doorway as the younger man puts down his bags; his speech sounds slightly muffled as he has an unlit cigarette in his mouth. "and of course I don't mind. Just take your time and relax. After all, you will be here for a while. Make yourself comfortable, Richard."  
  
Richard smiles at him and nods. He fishes out a cigarette from his own pocket and places it between his lips, along with a silver lighter - and in an uncharacteristically bold move, walks over and leans forward so the ends of their cigarettes are touching. Till stares at him with a bewildered look, their lips being mere inches apart, as Richard flicks the lighter open and holds it exactly so the flame lights both of their cigarettes.  
  
" _Vielen Dank_ ," the guitarist smiles as he pulls back first, inhaling the blissful smoke and reveling in the other's expression. "I think I will."  
  
Ever so slowly, a sly grin spreads on the older man's face, and mutual understanding dawns on them both. This is going to be a very interesting month or two.  
  
They're alone, and for the first time since their heart-to-heart in 2008, devoid of other responsibilities. Around now is the time to get this out in the open. Richard is certain of that.  
  
\-----  
  
Under Till's insistence, Richard takes a nap from two to six o'clock in the evening, after having unpacked his things over a period of three hours and having eaten a very quick and simple lunch. It's one of the most relaxing and blissful naps he's had in a while. When he wakes up, stretching his lean body and rubbing at his eyes, he spends a little while just lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling with a mild, contented smile on his face. This is where he ought to be.  
  
"Richard?" Till peers around the door, and when the guitarist turns his head in his direction, looks relieved. "you look better rested than before."  
  
"Mmm. I feel like it, for sure."  
  
The singer laughs and dismisses the thanks with a casual wave of the hand. "No problem at all. If you want anything like a shower, or-?"  
  
Richard briefly has an image of Till and him stepping into the shower together before he gets a hold of himself and reminds himself that the man isn't _quite_ offering that. Not yet at least. He shakes off both his slight embarrassment and amusement and nods. "That would be nice."  
  
"The towels are in the bathroom. After that, if you're hungry, I'm just preparing something for us both. Come to the kitchen afterwards, _ja?_ "  
  
Smile. Till is so considerate. "I will."  
  
It is in this way that they're led to have their first dinner as flatmates together, the meal itself being simple and filling. After having a shower, Richard deliberately doesn't flatten his hair down and lets it spike up a little, having taken the other's comment to heart. The older man acting like a domestic is certainly quite humorous to look at despite being a fairly mundane and logical thing - he has lived vastly alone in the past years, of course he knows how to cook and take care of things by himself. But most aprons are bound to be quite small pressed against his muscular body, the one that he wears to cook is no exception, and Richard nearly gives into the urge to chuckle at the curiously endearing sight more than once. While the older man cooks he does his part by setting up the table and helping to carry some dishes; Till pops open a bottle of wine and leaves it to breathe by the fireplace.  
  
"You're pretty good at this."  
  
"Comes from living alone for a long time," Richard detects a hint of melancholy in the other's voice and nods in understanding. He's never really thought about it, but after Nele grew up, Till must have been keeping the flat by himself most of the time. Knowing the singer, he would have been appreciative of and at the same time saddened by the newfound loneliness. This makes the younger man feel _wanted_ , and this in turn lightens his spirits considerably.  
  
Conversation during dinner is of fairly normal things. Richard wouldn't have it any other way, really - Till and he are friends before anything else, and what better to affirm that than by just talking and catching up? They talk about the letters Till's sent him, about his newest poems, how good Berlin is compared to the stifling atmosphere of New York City. Much to the younger man's delight, for dessert Till gives them both a slice of Black Forest Cake on a plate.  
  
"Did you make this yourself?"  
  
"I did," Till looks quite proud. "I didn't have any _Kirschwasser_ on me, but I think it turned out all right."  
  
Richard chuckles. "Oh, Till, it can't legally be called Black Forest Cake without _Kirschwasser_!" the older man just rolls his eyes and sighs playfully as the guitarist cuts into the moist surface of the cake, spooning up the cherries and chocolate cream and savoring the taste.   
  
"Is it good?"  
  
"Mmmm," the younger man smiles and goes back for more. "this is delicious..." Till smiles and starts on his own slice. They eat in silence for a little while before Richard gets up and offers to fetch the wine bottle. A fine vintage, too. Till's really made an effort.  
  
The older man asks him what's happened to his house over glasses of red wine, and Richard shrugs and says that it's been sold and he has no plans to return there. Till becomes a little solemn and nods, not pressing any further, and the younger man is grateful for that. He's surprised at how fast time's going by and how comfortable he feels - they're simply two old friends chatting over glasses of wine about their lives. A part of him thinks that he should be content with this and not make any moves that night, seeing as he's only just settled in. But at the same time, despite the casual friendliness between them there is still something more lingering beneath the surface, a sort of excitable tension, and now kind of feels like the time to delve into it. He can only hope for the best, and that he and Till are now connected enough to be able to understand each other's intentions.  
  
"Sing something for me," Richard says as he places their newly-emptied bottle of wine aside. Till raises an eyebrow, looking very amused.   
  
"What, in here? Right now? What would the neighbors _say_ ," he responds, knowing perfectly well that he's got a specially soundproofed room for that exact purpose. Richard humors him with a casual shrug.   
  
"It's a celebratory occasion! If you cared about that at any point in the past ten years, you wouldn't be Till Lindemann of Rammstein fame."  
  
"That's not fair, I'm not quite _that_ antisocial," but Till's good as agreed to it, and they both stand up and head towards the soundproofed room together. Richard hoists himself up on the desk where Till keeps his writings and lyric sheets, recalling an old, similar memory and smiling at the thought, while the older man closes the door and sits down on the chair. He laces his fingers together and leans back, looking at the younger man with a questioning expression. "so. What would you like me to sing?"  
  
"Anything," Richard says, an odd feeling swelling in his chest, keeping his voice as light and carefree as possible. "anything would do. As long as it doesn't require all of us five to play the accompaniment."  
  
Till laughs good-heartedly. "Probably not anything like 'Mein Teil', then. Not as if that's a good one to keep us in cheerful spirits, anyway. But surely we need at least a bassline," he stands up and picks up a bass guitar from the corner, testing the strings and finding that they need a little tuning. He twists the machine heads and strums one string at a time while Richard watches him. "I haven't played the bass for so long, I wonder if I can even pull off anything beyond a very simple ostinato."  
  
He lets out an appreciative sound when he's satisfied that the guitar is tuned. "Well? Any other suggestions?"  
  
"How about 'Seemann'?" Richard suggests. If he's correct in his judgment, that was probably what Till was thinking of singing, as well. He is proven right when the singer nods in approval almost immediately. "you haven't sung that in a while. I'd like to hear it."  
  
"I'll do my best. Just for you, since you ask so nicely."  
  
This is spoken in a purposefully-neutral tone, but Richard can see past simple things like that now, and he picks up that Till is _flirting_ with him. So in return, Richard chooses this particular moment to be bold. "I'll play the accompaniment," he says in a barely audible voice as he reaches over and gently plucks out the bass guitar from Till's hands. The singer blinks at him before a small perplexed smile appears on his face.  
  
"Can you play bass at all?"  
  
"I'm not inexperienced," the younger man responds as enigmatically as possible, keeping his gaze lowered. "besides, I want to play for you."  
  
He's made his move. Till pauses and looks at him for a couple of seconds as he processes this, and Richard looks back at him. The singer finally nods (in a gesture that's probably more directed to himself than to Richard) and stands up so that Richard can take his seat. He settles down on the desk himself, looking at the window behind the guitarist for a second or two before he gestures at the younger man, asking him to begin.   
  
_A major -_ Richard repeats to himself in his head as he starts onto the ostinato riff, feeling a little nervous but excited at the same time. _A flat minor - F sharp minor - C sharp minor -_  
  
" _Komm... in mein Boot..._ " Till starts to sing, raising his head to look towards Richard and the setting sun. " _ein Sturm kommt auf... und es wird Nacht..._ " the guitarist quietly settles into the rhythm, not quite familiar with this part of the song despite having heard it many times before. He was never low-key enough to be a brilliant bassist like Olli - and Till, come to think of it, although it must have been years since the singer's even played on one. But this is important enough that he _has_ to get it right.  
  
" _Wo..._ " his voice is beautiful, higher than the norm and surprisingly innocent in its sincerity. " _willst... du hin...?_ "   
  
Richard glances up slightly to meet the singer's gaze, deep and green as the sea and filled with a torrent of emotions that he now can and wants to decipher - but ought not to, not yet, for fear of ruining the moment, " _so ganz allein... treibst du da-von..._ "  
  
But he does find himself feeling rather agonized, in the old longing way, when Till holds out his hand invitingly as he sings the next line. It takes him all his will to not actually take him up on the offer.  
  
" _Wer... hält deine Hand... Wenn es dich... nach un-ten zieht..._ "  
  
Paul and Richard should be kicking in with their guitars and Schneider with his drums at this point if this was being played onstage. But it's not - there's just him and Till, all underscored with only a soft bass. Nevertheless, he doesn't miss the other's arm twitching lightly in a nigh subconscious reaction to this part of the song, in preparation for launching into a slow version of the Till Hammer as he used to do; he doesn't go through with it, but the sight gives Richard something to smile about to himself.   
  
" _Jetzt stehst du da... an der Laterne..._ " Till's hands briefly tighten around the edge of the desk before relaxing; he has a very small smile on his face, one that nevertheless softens his features considerably. " _... mit Tränen... im Gesicht..._ " as the older man sings this line he reaches out and trails the tips of his fingers down Richard's cheek, his caress gentle and soft; the guitarist forces himself to be content with a stolen glance, focusing on the bassline and making sure that not a note is out of place. Every single little detail has to be perfect.  
  
" _...das Tageslicht fällt auf die Seite... der Herbstwind fegt die Straße leer..._ "  
  
When they first released 'Herzeleid', that long time ago, 'Seemann' had been the song that had truly awakened Richard to Till's potential as a lyricist. And even then, it was not until 'Messer' had been published eight years later and Till had actually consented to giving people a portrait of himself as a young man that the use of all those metaphors had fallen right into place. Till is fond of talking about the sea, often talking of boats and harbours and that sensation of drifting and searching aimlessly. As the chords sink into his mind, Richard wonders whether that's why the older man conceived the boat stunt in the first place - Flake never liked it much, but Olli has been on the rubber boat many times before, and from what he's disclosed of his feelings on the stunt he's always found it to be a magical experience. Countless hands guiding him around the arena, away from the stage, back to the stage, being carried an ocean's worth of love and togetherness and yet being so alone. He and Till also worked on 'Seemann' together, and this used to be that one particular song where the bassist took center stage with the man while the guitarists took a little break.  
  
Richard thinks he understands the emotion behind this song now, and this realization settles something deep within him.   
  
Him and Till, floating together and yet apart in a shared sea of longing.  
  
As Till continues singing, he walks past Richard and slowly across the room, eventually stopping to stare out of the window. He never misses a single note, and Richard turns his body to look at him and sees that the singer wants him to follow. But the cords for the amp and bass aren't long enough to allow him to do that, and besides, he quite likes how they're positioned. They're perfectly balanced in their unspoken desire, at opposite sides of the room but ever so close; the guitarist turns back and closes his eyes, allowing the other's baritone to wash over him and shivering ever so slightly with rapture.   
  
" _...die Zeit steht still... und mir ist... kalt..._ "   
  
Till's eyes are closed, his arms subconsciously tightening around his own body as he sings the final line in a near whisper.  
  
" _... Kalt..._ "  
  
 _-A major - A flat minor - F sharp minor - C sharp minor._  
  
Richard fades out completely with a couple of phases before stopping. Without looking back at Till's direction, he then bends down to disconnect the amp and cord, keeping his movements slow and deliberate as he does so and stands up. Only then does he look back at the singer, seeing that Till hasn't moved an inch; with the bass guitar still in hand, Richard silently walks over to stand behind him. They're completely quiet, the older man's still standing with his serene expression reflected on the window and with his arms around himself and it feels like his voice is still lingering in the air. the guitarist's heart is beating so hard that he swears that if things got any quieter, his friend would be able to hear it loud and clear and there would be no fooling him - his chance is right here, right now, amongst the fleeting, magical moment created by him and Till in their perfect harmony-  
  
 _And I am cold._  
  
"Don't be," Richard murmurs, almost inaudibly, before he pulls Till into a longing embrace with the bass guitar pressed between their bodies.   
  
His arms close tightly around the singer's waist, and the younger man buries his face into the back of his muscular shoulder; he's afraid to look into the window and see what kind of expression Till's wearing, but more than that, he utterly loves the feeling of sharing body heat like this, even if the older man isn't-  
  
-his hands are caught and pulled away. Richard, feeling a little startled and perhaps hurt, takes a little step backwards before he realizes that Till has taken the bass guitar from between their bodies and has placed it down. They are only apart for maybe four seconds before the older man makes his move immediately afterwards, pulling Richard's body close in another embrace, grasping at him eagerly. _He's not angry at me!_ Richard thinks dazedly, and this lends him the courage to look up into the other's face. The singer is staring at a fixed point across the room, not meeting Richard's eyes, but the sheer desperation in his grip assures the guitarist that he is meant to stay.  
  
"We've always avoided discussing this," Till whispers, sounding somewhat restrained. Richard responds with only a little nod, biting his lip and nervously scanning the other's expression; but there is no disgust or unwillingness to be found there, only simple hesitation.   
  
"We have," pause. "we can... _not_ discuss it, if you want. It doesn't have to go any further than this."  
  
Till's reaction surprises him, and possibly even the man himself. He grabs Richard's face in both hands, forcing him to meet his gaze, showing him for the first time how filled with desire his eyes are. " _Nein_ ," he growls in a voice that makes the guitarist shiver in both fear and excitement, before he takes the younger man's hand in his and all but runs out of the room with him in tow. He fumbles with the doorknob to his bedroom before twisting it and pushing the door open. Richard only had enough time to notice Till's double bed against the wall before he is pushed onto it, letting out a surprised gasp as his head hits the pillows. Till hoists himself onto the bed as well; he's sitting instead of lying down alongside the younger man but from the way he's poised, it's obvious that it's taking him a great deal of self-control to stop himself from doing anything beyond what's already happened. "I guess that's the song."  
  
"Not just the song," Richard manages to say, still rather startled and his heart beating so rapidly that he has to force himself to calm down by gripping tightly at the sheets beneath him. "not just that at all. This has been going on since forever... so you knew."  
  
"Yes. I knew. They all did," Till laughs shakily. "Flake confronted me on it at least twice. Olli too. You came to me when I was just a humble single father weaving baskets to provide a living and changed my life completely. God forbid that a lot hasn't happened since then, and I won't lie and say that it was in any way a smooth ride for either of us but you were always _there_ , the single stable constant in my life... and I just... never thought that there would be time to..."  
  
The older man suddenly pulls Richard closer to his chest, stroking the other's hair gently. His fingers dance lightly over exposed skin and Richard shudders at the sensation.  
  
"Till," he whispers. " _Till_..."  
  
"Shh," the older man shushes him with a quick kiss on the lips. It's a very brief kiss, barely a brushing of the lips at that, but the half-second of warmth and softness awakens something within Richard and he lets out a trembling moan escape his body. Strange, almost, how their first kiss lasts less than a second and yet still does just as good a job as a long, drawn-out French kiss would have done in awakening years' worth of passion locked inside him. Till doesn't seem to be yet aware of this, though, and even though Richard is quite happy to lie there and savor that moment, he thinks it courtesy to do it properly. He smiles softly at the younger man, brushing back a few stray locks of hair, before he lies down, locks his fingers beneath Richard's head and cradles him close as their lips meet for the second time.   
  
It's hard to concentrate on anything that isn't Till when the older man is on top of him and kissing him like he's better than air. It's not the wildest kiss he's ever gotten in his life, which is strange because one might think that Till would be beyond wild and bestial in bed, but it just makes him happier because the singer is actually showing concern for him. Rather, it's a slow and expressive experience - Richard has never thought that there could be such a thing as an _expressive_ kiss, beyond conveying the usual feelings of romance, lust, or love associated with the act anyway, but he's proven wrong. Before being a confirmation of all those three things, the kiss is a tentative first step of sorts. Till's lips are moving gently against his, pressing and brushing in all the right spots, and his hand is caressing his hair. It feels like what people think one's very first kiss should feel like, shy and gauche and yet with every breath and every slight movement introducing warmth and sunshine into the soul. Fumbling slightly, Richard nevertheless manages to wrap one arm around the other's waist, running the other hand along his back and stroking ever so gently. Till's lips are soft, far softer than the guitarist ever would have imagined; they're engaged in a swimmer's kiss, long and drawn out and agonizingly arousing. He certainly has the lung capacity for it. Richard is just wondering if the older man is ever going to breathe when Till breaks the kiss; he actually doesn't _break_ it as much as simply _trailing off_ gently around the younger man's mouth, smoothly moving up to caress the other's cheek with his lips and down to the tip of chin again before pulling away. He's seemingly very much in composure, unlike the guitarist who is panting heavily in an attempt to regain his breath.   
  
" _Fantastich,_ " Till murmurs against his lips, the look in his eyes filled with utter adoration. And this is what suddenly awakens Richard to the gravity of the situation, that they've just _kissed_ , have taken the plunge - and suddenly he is afraid. He came to Till, both seeking to lay their feelings down at each other's feet, and now that they've actually done it - it has not settled his mind the slightest but has only fueled the passion within him. And just as he has been afraid of letting on his feelings for the singer all this time, his own desire makes him terrified of what is going to happen next. He is terrified that once they go further, there will be no turning back; and even if they are perfectly happy and content with the results, what of the years to come and afterwards? Their time together will be blissful and brutally short - twenty years has passed them by already, another twenty will pass just as quickly, and before long one of them will depart this world and leave the other one in mourning. As Till said before - _save yourself from heartache; save yourself from togetherness_ \- with those words already deeply engraved in his heart from the countless times he listened to the singer's beautiful voice and from the experience of divorce, how can he just reach out and touch the older man and ask: _will you love me for always?_  
  
"Can we really do this?" Richard whispers. The room feels oddly cold despite Till's warmth surrounding him.   
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"You want me. Your lead guitarist."  
  
"Yes. Of course. I have for a long time."  
  
"Even though we're still bandmates and will be for at least two years more? Even after what happened with Caron?"  
  
At the mention of Caron, Till seems to shrink back a little, looking down with a melancholy expression. Richard hurriedly tries to apologize when he sees this - _no, God, Till, please don't pull away now, that was idiotic of me_ \- but before he can do so, Till's eyes flicker upwards to meet his again. "Is that... is that what's holding you back?"  
  
"No, _Gott, no,_ " the younger man moans as he shakes his head frantically. "that's not true. That's not it _at all_. What frightens me is that... is that one day, this has to end."  
  
"Everything has to end eventually," Till assures him, his fingers trembling in emotion nevertheless as he holds the guitarist. "but you aren't just a one-night stand or a toy, you know that-"  
  
"I don't-" the younger man closes his eyes and swallows hard, his heart pounding and feeling a rush of various emotions coursing through his body. "I don't mean just that, I'm scared because we're nearly fifty, because I wasted so much time without approaching you. I'm scared because one day we'll just be two men called Till Lindemann and Richard Kruspe who are growing old together. We already might as well be-"  
  
"Richard."  
  
The guitarist clutches at his body with a terrible intensity. "I've been your friend for over twenty years, Till. I hope to be for at least twenty more, and beyond that as well. But that's it, we're not young, Till... I regret it, that I didn't make any moves earlier when I could have... I didn't want to lose you, I _never_ want to lose you for anything. I don't want to leave you behind or be left alone - and it _can't_ end, not this, not after so long!"  
  
" _Richard._ "  
  
Till's soft, imploring yet firm tone silences him, just like that. The look on the other's face is poignant, yet the melancholy is gone from it - instead, there is simply fondness and yearning. "You and I were side by side for over two decades. Even if nothing came of this - do you think anything _but_ death could part us now, after what we've been through?"  
  
The guitarist closes his eyes, feeling as if his heart is about to stop. "I never approached you in the times when I thought I should have, either," Till breathes in his ear with a mixture of desperation and longing, his hand brushing at Richard's cheek. "maybe it was for the best and we are much better off for having waited, but - oh, Richard, it was utterly agonizing, watching and wanting you all this time-"   
  
"I know," and he indeed does. He takes Till's hand and dares to brush a kiss along the knuckles in response, murmuring against it: "I _know_..."  
  
"We all die, Richard. That's inevitable," Till is still saying. "but if we're to regret that we waited for too long - then at least we can do it together during the time we have left, can't we? One day those years might fly by and they might seem like minutes, _seconds_ \- but it's better to have even a second than to have never tried at all, isn't it?"  
  
Richard lets out a shaky laugh of relief and something else that he can't quite yet grasp. Till's hands are trembling, not quite daring to reach out again and make the decision final for both of them. If this relationship is going to work, Richard must do his part as well, so he grasps Till's face and gets to work acquainting his lips to every inch of exposed skin, starting with his forehead. The older man closes his eyes blissfully at the sensation, and Richard takes the opportunity to kiss his eyelids, visualizing the beautiful green eyes beneath them. With each touch of the lips it becomes clearer and clearer to both men that they have accepted the inevitable, and Richard feels almost as if he's about to cry because he can't believe this is becoming reality at last.  
  
"You have..." he starts, his voice hoarse and breaking from emotion. "you have... no idea... how many times I've dreamed..."  
  
Without waiting for Till's reply, he reaches out with trembling fingers to lightly trace the outline of the singer's lips, just as soft and defined as they were twenty years ago. Richard gasps quietly as Till flicks out his tongue in response, lightly caressing his fingertips with the tip of his tongue and even sensually taking one into his mouth. His trousers feel uncomfortably tight, and when he shifts against Till their thighs brush together and he feels that the older man's got the same problem. Till must have felt it too, he thinks to himself, because the singer's breath has hitched a little and he's grasping at Richard's shirt and tugging the garment off him. _Oh my God_ , Richard thinks frantically, even though he's so excited that he can barely react beyond a gasp. The shirt is tossed away as Till begins to work on the other's belt and lets that clatter to the floor as well. Starting to think that maybe he should be reciprocating, the guitarist awkwardly reaches for the other's waist and feels quite silly when he realizes that Till isn't wearing a belt that he can take off. It's not a lost cause, though - he quickly amends the situation by unbuttoning the other's shirt, feeling Till's bare chest pressing against his as he gently slides it off his shoulders and reveals his torso. The sudden rush of warmth puts the guitarist ever more on edge as he becomes aware of their bodies - both of impressive bulk - pressing closer than ever before, and he's afraid that the slightest bit of clumsiness would cause even a second's worth of misgivings from the older man. "You'll never go anywhere without me ever again," Till whispers, his breath tickling the younger man's chest lightly.  
  
He strokes Till's strong and muscular back with his hands, which are calloused heavily from years of playing the guitar; he no longer feels delicate sensations on his fingertips any more, but somehow the older man's heat makes its way through his skin almost immediately when they touch. One could brush a kiss on the tips of his fingers or burn them with a match and he wouldn't feel a thing, but as he traces every line and curve on the other's skin he can feel every detail as vividly as he'd always wanted to do. He's actually very surprised at how much of the older man's body he knows just by having _looked_ and not much more. He lets his hand wander down to Till's abdomen, feeling for the old faded scar there, and although it's dark and he's only ever seen it he can find the spot almost immediately. Even with his calloused fingers and the scar having long since faded to near invisibility, he can feel it beneath his fingertips, raised and smooth and irrevocably a part of Till. The singer lets out a low growl at the touch, sounding almost like a purr, and he hides a smile.  
  
It is at this point that Richard realizes that Till doesn't have much clue as to what they should be doing next, either. They've made a huge leap, and suddenly they're lying half naked in bed with each other without a concrete idea of what's about to happen; he can feel the older man hesitating, unsure as to whether to proceed with the next step or not, or even what the next step is for that matter.   
  
_"Wo wilst du hin...?"_  
  
The other's song arises in his memory again, prompting Richard to try taking the lead. He moves up a little from his position, taking hold of Till's face between his hands and licking slightly at his lips to moisten them. The singer looks a little puzzled, especially when Richard starts stroking his hair gently, but soon figures out his intentions and relaxes, closing his eyes and angling his lips just so that the younger man can capture them with a small incline of the head.  
  
 _Okay, move slow, don't let him be nervous - it's for him, make him feel-  
  
Oh. Ohh. This feels amazing._  
  
Neither of them are strangers to those kinds of kisses either - in fact it'd be a lot safer to assume that they were strangers to anything remotely sexual decades ago - and for a moment Till doesn't actually react as he registers the other's tongue touching his. But slowly, gently, he returns the gesture while letting the younger man lead. It's so easy to make a French kiss into an extremely awkward or even vulgar act if just one partner isn't doing it right, so it's quite charming that Till's trusting him full-heartedly, even adopting a slightly more submissive look to go with it. Till's tongue feels pleasant and when he lightly pushes against the tip of it the man shivers a little - he must be ticklish. _Adorable_. And the taste - God, all the time spent fantasizing about this moment and he's never thought about the _taste_ \- is surprisingly sweeter than he expected it to be, hot and soft and mingled with the fine hint of cherries and rich wine and Richard is completely and utterly intoxicated. He runs his hands down Till's back slowly, palms massaging the skin, feeling a shudder traveling through the other's body at the contact; reaching the top of his trousers, Richard hesitates only a little before he slips one hand down it, resting and tightening his grip on the other's backside slightly. He's being daring, and Till breaks the kiss with what sounds like a whimper at the touch, a thin trail of saliva connecting their lips; such a sound is unlike him, and yet so tender and melodic that Richard feels a burst of immense affection and fondness welling up inside him. Something tells him that they're moving quite fast, perhaps too fast for now; Richard pushes away the thought, being less interested in satisfying his lust and more desperate to just get as much contact as possible. He wants Till to share this sentiment, to feel the same as now - he wants Till to desire him too-  
  
"I want you," Richard gasps out against Till's lips, feeling the other inhale sharply in response. "all those years I've wanted you... touch me, Till, _please_."  
  
The older man doesn't need further prompting. Having been given a direction to go, he pushes Richard's hands away from his body just so he can unbutton his trousers and slide them off his legs, obviously intending to finish what he was doing earlier; the younger man does the same to himself to save Till the trouble, wanting more to savor the other's heat on his bare skin. Their legs touch and brush against each other, the friction reassuring and warm. Eager to feel and taste more of the other's skin, Richard impatiently pulls him down before Till can adjust himself to a more comfortable position, letting out a soft involuntary whine as the singer resists his strength and simply pins him down with one hand.  
  
"Behave yourself, then," he growls, a dark, mischievous glint in his eyes. He keeps his movements slow and agonizing as he trails his other hand down the guitarist's biceps, down to his shoulders and neck, venturing downwards in a mildly curious sort of way. Richard gasps and exhales, shuddering a little Till runs both of his palms down his chest and then back up again to cup his face.  
  
"You're fine," Till whispers hoarsely, running his hand along the contours of Richard's muscles and over his features and reassuring them both of something that they can't pinpoint yet. The younger man kisses the tips of his fingers with desperation, feeling how rough they are from all the burns he's received over the years and not even half caring. "you're beautiful, Richard. _Gott_."   
  
He dives down to kiss the younger man without waiting for a response, assaulting his lips and face mercilessly. Richard whimpers and clenches his eyes shut, not trusting himself to be able to speak coherently or even look at the older man in the eyes, instead relying on touch to convey his emotions. A shudder and a moan escapes him when he feels Till lick down the hollow of his neck to his clavicle; his tongue feels hot and wet and a little rough like a cat's against his skin, and it's most definitely a pleasurable sensation. Richard is being worshipped all over and he's so turned on that he can barely breathe. He cries out loud when Till licks the tips of his nipples; he gently closes his lips around one pert nub after teasing them to hardness, sucking and biting lightly. Till reaches up to pinch and lightly tweak the other, making Richard squirm beneath him, increasingly higher-pitched whimpers spilling from his lips. The older man lets out a low chuckle at this before shifting up a little, straddling the guitarist; he's incredibly hard, and so is Richard. He gently grinds his hips against Richard's, forcing him to cry out in lustful agony and reminding him that only two layers of fabric lie between their bare arousals, the hot, hard friction between them making him feel as if he's about to explode right there and then. _Quite anticlimatic,_ he tells himself as an attempt to slow down his breathing, _it'd be a real downer if that happened, but this just feels so good..._  
  
But Till isn't out of surprises yet. He makes his way down to the waistband of the other's boxers, licking and stroking, but stops exactly at that spot, Richard hoists himself up on his elbows with some difficulty and manages to look down at himself, puzzled at the sight of the older man nuzzling his stomach. The light rasp of his stubble and the warmth of Till's breath against his skin make him collapse back down in pleasure, but it's not long before the singer stops entirely and rolls off his body, settling down by Richard's side. Till's eyes are darker than ever with lust, his pupils fully dilated, and he seems quite reluctant to be just lying there - but he certainly isn't going any further. He moves his hand towards Till's waist and runs it down to his thighs to see if the man's just waiting for him to return the favor. He's proven wrong when the older man pushes his hand away from his body; he holds onto it and brushes his lips lightly over the knuckles, but doesn't do anything else. This isn't what he expected at all.   
  
"Till..." Richard whispers, confused. "why... did you..."  
  
"I don't want this to be over so quickly."  
  
Richard thinks about it before accepting this answer as valid. He's burning for more, of course, but Till is right, it ought not to be over just in one night's worth of passion when there is more, so much more between them. With that in mind, he becomes immensely glad that Till knew where to stop. It makes their time together much more valuable, because they aren't giving in to their desires straight away and risk cheapening what they've built up for over two long decades. Just the fact that they're lying in bed together, naked except for their boxers and hard for each other, is more than enough. Till is panting next to him, his eyes blazing with desire; Richard feels very much of the same, but they've got the entire rest of their lives ahead of them to explore, and really - they are in no hurry. He's thinking so hard about these things, however, that he doesn't yet notice that older man has taken his contemplative silence as one of disappointment.  
  
" _Es tut mir leid,_ " Till murmurs, startling Richard into looking back up at him. The singer looks a little nervous and embarrassed. "I... I led you on too far, didn't I? I could barely help myself..."  
  
"Mmm," the guitarist shakes his head a little. He's actually quite flattered. "no. On the contrary... I think... there's a lot for me to look forward to now."  
  
Till's expression reverts into one of relief. He pats the spot right next to him and Richard shifts over, letting out a soft moan when their bodies press and rest against each other.  
  
"I have cared for and will always care for you," Till says, leaving a trail of hot kisses down his shoulder and chest. "and I have always been and always will be yours, no matter what."  
  
The guitarist responds by pulling him up for another kiss on the lips, letting his hands explore Till's body, resting at the small of his back and making the older man growl softly in pleasure. He breaks the kiss and buries his face on the crook of Till's neck, still only half believing that this is really happening, that the singer's returning his affections with the same (if not more) longing and desperation. But he'll accept it within the night. There's no other reason to doubt their relationship any more. The sensation of Till's index finger tracing shapes on the skin of his back while holding him in his arms affirm a wordless promise, that there will be more nights like those; soon they will be able to go further, much further, and they will have no need to hold back because neither of them would allow the other to resist. It feels like the most natural thing.  
  
" _Ich habe dich lieb,_ " Richard whispers to him. Till is worth more than clichéd phrases; the usual lovers' cooing of ' _ich liebe dich!_ ' is arguably too strong and far too common. He's hardly a master of words like Till is, but what he said is so much better, infinitely softer and more fitting for the older man who is his closest friend, companion and now-lover. Richard knows that he will understand.  
  
"I love you," the singer gives his reply in English, a soft, sensual murmur against his lips. It's simple and finite and so absolutely truthful that Richard feels no need to question it.  
  
He's been searching fruitlessly when what he wanted and needed was right next to him all this time. Till's been with him, holding his hand, since the beginning - it was a long journey, getting to this point, and it'd be a lie to say that along the line there weren't hurt feelings and misunderstandings. But there are no more obstacles any more, he can rest now in Till's arms and soothe them both for as long as they're together. That is one of Richard's many purposes in life, one that will last him for decades to come.  
  
He needed Till just as much as Till needed him. That was the answer, plain and simple all along, and the seemingly-endless searching and longing comes to an end just like that. Richard sighs and relaxes in the other's arms, inhaling his scent and smiles as he feels the man nuzzling the shell of his ear and murmuring: "Welcome home."  
  
It's taken them a very long time to realize it, but the meaning of it is clear; this story has a happy ending.  
  
\-----  
  
 _'... Ich fühle dich, ich verlass dich nicht.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, put your hands up, everyone who thought Richard was having a pure lapse into 'open mouth, insert foot' territory when he mentioned Caron. XDDDDDD
> 
> The Black Forest cake ( _Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte_ ) returns again; _Kirschwasser_ is a distilled cherry liquor, and you really can't legally call it _Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte_ without the addition of this liquor in Germany. :D This is the kind of thing I use my knowledge of German cakes on. And the return of Till's basket! I've been wanting to have it make another appearance for months now. But what am I rambling on about? 'Silence' is finally finished! Will they or won't they - yes, they _do_. Happy endings are not my forte but I think this turned out fine. Hope the fluff in this chapter was worth everything they went through! This is now my headcanon for why they're being so close and affectionate with each other in the Made In Germany 1995-2011 Tour compared to the ones that came before. I now will go and see them with a light heart on the 29th of February, 7:30pm in Newcastle, England!
> 
> Communication is a major theme in 'Silence'. I think Till and Richard are actually a lot closer to each other in the first chapter than they are in the next... six or so, despite the time passage, because as their lives become more and more complex, more things inevitably get in the way even though their feelings get stronger. And this leads to a lack of true communication - you could also add in the phone motifs present in the story and in the side-stories as another version of this, where making calls (and failing to get through in some cases) is constantly present. I wanted Till's voice and lack of it to be a palindrome: from honest heart-to-hearts, then giving advice and enchanting Richard with the meaning of his songs, and then to arguing, to disembodied phone calls and answering machine recordings, and finally to complete silence before it goes back uphill once more. Richard and Till follow this pattern along until they return to their original honesty and love. I wanted to develop Till in Richard's point of view as a singer and a human being with his lyrics, descriptions of his voice, and through depriving him of all those things once the factors were established - a silent Till was thus very challenging to write. But in the end, it came through. 'I love you' is an overused phrase, sadly, and yet it is such an important declaration! That is why I wanted them to say that to each other once and only once in this fic, and never in the form of ' _Ich liebe dich_ '. Because they're much more, so much more than that, and that's the whole point I was trying to prove by writing this behemoth of a story. I've had this ending staring at me since December and it was so hard being as vague as possible to not spoil. xD
> 
> I will leave you with the translations of the quotes used above and below the chapter: it's from 'Führe Mich' which comes from the bonus disc of 'Liebe Ist Für Alle Da'. I thought of it as Richard and Till's call and response.
> 
> _Führe mich... halte mich...  
>  Ich fühle dich, ich verlass dich nicht._
> 
> _Lead me... hold me...  
>  I feel you, I will not abandon you._
> 
> Time to leave those boys behind to get on with it. *wink* I'll sign off now.  
> Silence (21/Nov/2011 ~ 29/Feb/2012) - Solitary Shadow/Kimbk  
> Final Wordcount: 83,520 words / 173 Pages (text only)


End file.
